


songbird

by iwaoist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Son!Tooru, M/M, Obliviousness, Pining, Prince!Hajime, Red White and Royal Blue!AU, a lot of the seijoh characters will appear in this, i took some liberties adapting the novel, idk what to tell you but tooru do be really gay, just trust me okay, the slowest of slow burns, tooru is basically fucking myopic when it comes to his own feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoist/pseuds/iwaoist
Summary: Tooru Oikawa is the son of the first female President of the United States. He's charming, photogenic and intelligent, with a political hunger to rival the Washington big-shots.Prince Hajime Iwaizumi is the grandson of the Japanese Emperor. He's handsome, quiet and philanthropic, and also hiding a big secret.They don't like each other, they never have - but when they're forced to sort out a PR nightmare together, who knows what will happen?
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 108
Kudos: 147





	1. it's a new dawn, it's a new day

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! this is my first chaptered fic and honestly i'm scared to post it, but fuck it. this story is loosely based on the novel red white and royal blue, but you in no way need to read that to enjoy this fic. i hope you enjoy, and i'll do my best to update regularly enough for you all. 
> 
> shoutout to tae, who's helping me by letting me scream and also beta'ing this for me. love u baby, kisses
> 
> if you want to chat, come find me at bluenimi on twitter, or effie#4262 on discord!
> 
> have a great day and drink plenty of water!!

Tooru Oikawa remembered his first week in the White House in a blur. 

He was seventeen, he’d just packed up his life in Texas and moved into a monument of history. He was prepared, of course he was; he knew how hard his mother had campaigned to win the Presidency. He knew she was going to win. But somehow, in his head, he hadn’t reconciled his mother’s success with the obvious consequence of leaving his childhood home in favour of the White House. 

So, amongst the anxieties of not being able to sleep in his new bedroom and missing his father, Tooru had sneaked out of his bedroom. 

He’d taken the East bedroom, and his older sister, Tsuna, had taken the West; hers was next to the elevator, his was next to the Treaty Room. He found it oddly fitting. His sister was on trajectory for being at the top of the journalism food chain by the time she’s thirty-five, even with the restrictions on reporting and writing that come with being the First Daughter. She was that good. Tooru thought the Treaty Room fitted him because he was going to make damn sure that he was the youngest ever elected President in history. 

He knew he could do it; he had the political know-how, experience from living through political turmoil and being a part of the First Family at an age where he was already interested in politics, and he had the pedigree. His mother being Reiko Oikawa, the first female and first Asian-American President of the United States, and his father being Masaki Ito, a Democrat Senator in California - he had a strong political family behind him, even if his parents had divorced before his mother had even begun dipping her toe into the presidential pool, so it were. 

Tooru, sneaking out of his bedroom in his first week of being America’s First Son, was nervous. He didn’t want to get caught by a Secret Service agent, or worse - his mother. He was careful, treading lightly so he didn’t offend the creaky floorboards under the carefully vacuumed carpet. He didn’t know where he was going, but he let his feet carry him wherever. 

Thinking, Tooru reminded himself that this was his home now. Here, in the White House. Not the ranch back in Texas, not his father’s home in California, not even his grandparents’ home in Miyagi. He was more than free to explore and roam the corridors, as long as he stayed out of trouble - he wasn’t sure how well he’d do with that condition of his adventures, but he at least resolved to not get caught. 

Tooru had gone to the kitchen, first. He stole an ice cream out of the industrial freezer; his mother must have told the staff to buy them in because they were  _ very  _ Japanese and they were  _ very  _ Tooru. The mochi ice cream craze was  _ just  _ about hitting the US food Instagram pages, but there was something about it that reminded him of playing tag with his sister in the rolling expanses of the Texan ranch, their skin growing more freckly by the minute under the baking heat of the sun. Their father would chastise them playfully for forgetting sunscreen, smoothing aloe vera over their burnt and peeling skin, before handing them each an icy treat from the permanently stocked freezer. It was a lifetime ago, if Tooru thought about it. It was all different now - he and his sister were more about watching reruns of Scandal than playing tag, his dad was in California and he was in the White House. He smiled fondly at the thought, and tried hard not to get too beat down over how everything had changed so drastically over the last ten years. 

He ate his ice cream, tossed the wrapper and kept his adventure going. He walked and walked, getting some odd looks from staff members and Secret Service agents as he wandered around the White House corridors clad in pyjamas with aliens printed all over them. At the age of seventeen, he should probably have grown out of his alien pyjama phase, but where was the harm in keeping a tiny bit of that young boy from Texas alive, even just through his choice of nightwear? 

Tooru didn’t know how, but he ended up on the roof. He was up, over the Promenade, right near the edge of the Solarium. He didn’t know why, but his hands were drawn to fiddling with a little bit of loose panelling that hung there. Peeling it back, he felt like he was truly a member of the First Family - there was a message, almost certainly etched in by one of the First Sons or Daughters of old, scratched into the panelling. It was a little lop-sided, and there was a spelling mistake (unless ‘caught’ was now spelled with the letter O and he hadn’t been keeping up to date), but it was a piece of secret history. It was a message to Tooru, from the rebellious children of presidents that came before him. 

_ ‘RULE #1: DON’T GET COUGHT’ _

-

Now, Tooru was back in his bedroom. 

He was twenty-one, in his final year of college at Georgetown, on track to graduating top of his class - though, as the First Son he had a little bit of an advantage for some of his US politics classes, if he thought about it. Through his spates of ‘do I really deserve my achievements or do people only like me because my mother is the President?’, he reminded himself that he got into Georgetown on his own merit, when he was sixteen, he’s playing collegiate level volleyball alongside helping his mother campaign for reelection and also interning under his mentor. 

He had earned it.

Tooru lay on his bed, his fingers tapping against his thigh as he propped up his reading for the night on one knee.

_ Roman Political Thought  _ \- possibly his easiest class at the moment, the textbook well-worn and filled with sticky notes and scrawled connections between passages. 

He had his father’s old record player set up by his window and he hummed along to Nina Simone as her voice filled the room. Tooru lived for moments like these, where it was just him and he was free to relax in the privacy of his bedroom and the scratchy sound of well-worn vinyls spinning. 

_ “It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me - and I’m feeling good.”  _ The iconic voice of Ms. Nina Simone was unperturbed by the silence of Tooru’s bedroom.

She, too, was historical; her voice a testament to a time gone by, just like Tooru would be a testament to his mother’s ability to parent her children and the country.

He knew he was the epitome of a pretentious, upper-middle class college boy who majored in either social sciences or an arts and humanities discipline, but he didn’t care. He was that guy, kind of; hair meticulously styled to be just the right amount of tousled, always dressing like he belonged on a dark academia blog complete with his Burberry laptop case, his jaw sharp enough to cut people who got too close to him. 

The people who assumed that face was his real one, they didn’t know him at all. They didn’t know he needed to wear glasses all the time, but he refused to don his tortoiseshell frames for the sake of aesthetics. They didn’t know how he used to play volleyball from dawn until dusk and beyond, bruises littering his arms and legs for months as he tried to get better, be better. They didn’t know there was a time he wanted to go pro, before he caught the political bug, as it were. He wanted to play setter forever, but that dream was put on the side - he hadn’t had time to help campaign for his mother and attend every training camp he needed to attend in order to reach the top level. 

And those who did know about his dreams? They still didn’t realise that he would make the decision to help his mother over and over again. Her win started off a chemical reaction in his brain; he wanted this life of underhand, backroom deals and PR stunts for himself. 

He was hungry for it.

Tsuna was hungry for donuts, it seemed - she entered the West Bedroom without knocking, carrying a glazed dozen and a stack of newspapers and magazines. Hanamaki Takahiro was a few steps behind her. 

Tsuna Oikawa was five-foot-seven of model-esque beauty, but the most wonderful thing about her was her brain. She was a ruthless journalist, always willing to do the most for the exclusive scoop, but she was bound by her position as First Daughter to writing fluff pieces as a guest writer for Buzzfeed, or a monthly column for the Washington Post about her various charitable ventures. It wasn’t the writing she craved, but Tooru had every faith in his sister’s ability; she’d be editor of the New York Times by thirty, at the latest. 

She just had to get through the next four years.

“Tooru, put the book down. We have polls to read, tabloids to laugh at.” Tsuna drawled - her Texan accent wasn’t as strong as it was when the family had moved to Washington DC, and it made Tooru miss their childhood a little. He pushed the thought away, placing the textbook on his bedside table with a fond sigh, shaking his head.

“When I don’t graduate because you bribed me with Krispy Kreme, I’ll make sure to remind you of tonight.” Tooru still reached for the sugary-sweet treat, mouth salivating at the sight of them. 

Takahiro, Tooru’s best friend and Tsuna’s ex-boyfriend, also happened to be the nephew of the Vice-President. He was six-foot-three of a strawberry-haired, skinny, pasty, political intern, and Tooru had been best friends with him since they were fourteen and accidentally introduced at one of Tooru’s mother’s presidential campaign fundraisers. They’d smoked cigarettes out back of the conference hall, coughing and hacking and laughing, and in the midst of a nicotine high they’d forged a friendship like no other. 

The thing with Takahiro was that no one ever suspected him. Around staff and parents, even teachers, he was the epitome of Mr.-Responsible. He kept everyone focused, on plan - and then as soon as the White House Trio (as Tooru, Tsuna and Takahiro had been dubbed early on by the press) were left alone, he was the one demanding that  _ “someone should do a body shot off of me before I just end up sticky and smelling like tequila” _ . Tooru wasn’t sure how Takahiro managed it, while also simultaneously being the funniest and smartest person he knew, but he was just glad that Takahiro was around.

Tooru can only think of a handful of times his mood hadn’t been immediately lifted by Takahiro - the main one being when he broke up with Tsuna, which Tooru didn’t still fully understand. Tsuna and Takahiro had a brief fling, early on in Reiko’s presidency, when they were both nineteen and horny and left alone together for extended periods of time without adult supervision. They’d fizzled out, like every teenage relationship ever, but after a little work the three of them returned to their usual friendship dynamic: bullying Tooru incessantly.

“Look, Tooru- you made the front page on this one.” Takahiro began, clearing his throat for dramatic effect. _“First Son of the United States, Tooru Oikawa, spotted on a wild night in the Big Apple, where sources report he returned back to his hotel room with a mystery blonde. Could he be striking up a new romance? Rumours are swirling, as perhaps this blonde bombshell could be Hitoka Yachi, a classmate at Georgetown who was spotted getting coffee with Tooru a few weeks ago. Is love in the air for Tooru Oikawa once again?”_

Tooru rolled his eyes, throwing a balled up napkin he’d used to wipe donut crumbs from the corners of his mouth at Takahiro. “You and I both know that Yacchan is a lesbian. And besides, she’s way too good to date me, even if I was her, uh- preferred gender?”

“Too right. Huh.” Tsuna agreed, tilting her head and nodding in acknowledgement as she spread out on the foot of Tooru’s bed, flicking through one of the other papers she’d brought into the room. “She’s way too nice for you, Tooru - you’re an asshole.”

“Excuse me, I’m  _ charming _ apparently. How else do you explain  _ this _ ?” Tooru groaned, pointing out the popularity column printed inside the latest issue of People magazine. “Apparently, I’m the hottest son of a politician in the  _ world _ , Tsuna. Must be hard getting outshined by me all the time.”

Tsuna, graceful as ever, shoved her slipper-clad foot into her younger brother’s face, to which he, collected as ever, shrieked and nearly smacked his head on an antique side table on his fall off of his bed. 

Takahiro was laughing before Tooru’s butt even hit the plushly carpeted floor. “You’re an asshole, just like Tsuna said. You’re just a pretty one, too.”

“Thank you, my darling ‘Hiro. What would I do without you to boost my self-esteem?” Tooru rolled his eyes, rubbing his behind from the impact with the floor as he stood to his feet. He took his spot on his bed again, but sat up - cross legged, he pored over the magazine in front of him.

“Probably mope around the White House more than you already do, Tooru. Also - have a lot less fun.” Takahiro winked at Tooru, and Tooru pushed a certain flashback, a callback to the two of them late at night on the campaign trail, out of his mind. 

Not the time to open  _ that  _ can of worms. 

“So, Mr. I’m-the-hottest-shit-in-town, what are you wearing on Sunday?”

“Uh - what’s happening Sunday?”

Tsuna and Takahiro shared an exasperated look, but Tsuna was the one to chastise her little brother. “You have  _ got  _ to be kidding me. Yahaba will kill you and no one will blame him.”

“Just tell me what I’m going to be skipping out on, so I can make my excuses believable by then.” Tooru huffed, sending a mini-glare at his sister, paired with him sticking his tongue out at her, because Tooru is mature like that. “Yahaba wouldn’t kill me. He loves me. Sorta.”

“Tooru, you can’t skip the wedding of the future  _ Emperor of Japan _ . It’ll look bad.” Tsuna gave him a look of despair, sighing as she shook her head. “And besides - Yahaba would definitely maim you at the very least if you don’t prepare your things for the flight in the morning. We have to be at the airstrip for three in the morning.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Indeed.” Takahiro chuckled at Tooru once again, reclining in the antique desk chair without a care. 

“No - I mean, ‘ _ oh, fuck, I have to pretend to be nice to Iwaizumi Hajime, Prince of Japan, for an entire weekend’ _ .” Tooru groaned, burying his face and letting out a short scream of frustration into one of the endless throw pillows that adorned his bed, per the request of the interior designer his mother had hired when they moved in. 

“His older brother  _ is  _ getting married, so yes, you probably should.” Tsuna deadpanned, yet again mocking her younger sibling.

“God, every time I see his smug face I just -”

“Here we go, another Haji-rant. Tsuna, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“Fuck you, ‘Hiro.”

“Anytime, darling.” A wink, a kiss blown across Tooru’s bedroom, the rolling up of Us Weekly and the momentary battering of Takahiro’s shin with the curled up sheets of tabloid drivel.

Tooru pretended to gag, dramatic and overacted as was most of his teasing, but he was glad for the focus to shift from his dislike of the second-in-line to the Japanese throne. 

He knew that no one else saw Hajime how he saw him, as the pompous ass that just always had to beat him somehow. Hajime and Tooru were a similar age, both Asian, both in the public eye and both intelligent. The media constantly compared them, whether it was their shared sporting accolades, their photoshoots, or their academic achievements, and at some point it all got a bit much for Tooru. Also, it didn’t help that Hajime was a grade-A dick. 

“Tooru, I know you haven’t packed anything and, like I said, we have to be on Air Force One real early tomorrow morning - please, at least pack a suit that looks good on you. Don’t wear those  _ fucking  _ plaid shorts on the plane, either - it makes you look like you’re being dressed by a homophobic teenage boy in 2004.”

Tooru blinked at his sister, absorbing the information before maturely flipping her off. He knew that she was right, though. He’d had a suit tailored a few weeks ago for this trip,but Oikawa had put off thinking about Japan and its princes on the whole, to try and salvage what was left of his mental capacity. 

The rest - casual clothes for the plane, semi-formal wear for when the White House Trio inevitably had to make a few strategic public appearances in the country’s capital, pajamas - filled his closet to an endless degree. He’d likely dump them all in his suitcase about an hour before leaving in the morning, to the annoyance of pretty much everyone except himself. 

He loved being difficult, sometimes.

-

Tooru Oikawa, with his Secret Service codename Sparrow, hated flying. He hadn’t chosen his codename, but he didn’t appreciate the irony of it until he stepped into the metal bird of death. His mother was Eagle, his sister was Robin, his father was Hawk (whenever the four of them awkwardly travelled together, anyway) - they’d all been named after birds, handed their codenames the day Reiko Oikawa’s opponent conceded and she’d officially been named the President-Elect. 

Aeons ago. 

Apparently the previous First Family had all been named after fish, so Tooru at least thought his moniker was better than that. 

He knew all the stupid statistics about the likelihood of a plane crash being lower than getting hit by a car, or whatever, but he thought:  _ at least if I get hit by a car, someone can save me. Pull me out, or call an ambulance. Something. If a plane crashes into the ocean, no one will save us and I’ll die without ever achieving anything for myself. _

Tooru Oikawa, tragically lost before his time because he fell out of the sky. No - he’d much rather be a Julius Caesar, an assassinated political figure who became the stuff of legend, than an Icarus, falling out of the sky and drowning in the cerulean sea. Or, the Pacific if he was going to be pedantic. 

He despised flying, really.

Usually, it wasn’t a problem - his mother had known about his fear of flying for years, ever since he’d had his first panic attack flying from Texas to California to see his father, and Reiko usually made sure that Tooru had a Valium before takeoff, a travel pillow around his neck to inevitably drool on in his slumber. 

This time, he hadn’t been so lucky. His mother hadn’t slept at all last night, dealing with some international incident that surely couldn’t have been rectified without extensive phone calls to the US President. Tooru couldn’t blame her for not remembering; it wasn’t like his mother wasn’t dealing with a lot.

Tooru made a mental note to get his own Valium for the next flight. 

It was okay, though. Tsuna, sitting opposite him in the plush seating of the private jet with her gossip magazines in hand, did an excellent job of keeping his anxious brain company. She stayed awake with him, his hands gripping the arm rests of his seat on Air Force One hard enough to turn his knuckles white. 

“Come on, Tooru.” Tsuna smiled encouragingly, patting her brother’s knee affectionately, comforting him as best she could. “Let’s find out whether your soulmate is Timothee Chalamet, Liam Hemsworth or Chris Evans.”

“Could they pick any other brands of mayonnaise to choose from? I don’t think there’s enough of a range of whiteness. One of them has - shock horror - an  _ accent _ for crying out loud.” Tooru quipped, rolling his eyes. He ignored the fact that all of his supposed potential soulmates were actors, and male. 

“Very funny.” Tsuna rolled her eyes, pretending to be above his joking, but the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, the one that was the same as his own, betrayed her true mirth. 

“You know I’m nothing if not a hoot, dear sister.” He was sarcastic, as usual, but it relieved some of his stress. Mocking something or someone usually lowered his blood pressure significantly, and he was sure that it was perhaps his favourite coping mechanism. 

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Tsuna sighed slightly, putting the magazine down at her side as she met Tooru’s gaze. “Look, I know you won’t do anything on purpose, but can you - just - can you make sure you don’t cause an international incident with one of the princes of Japan?”

“How about their sister? I’m sure I can think of a few ways to get myself into trouble with her.”

“Tooru.” That was his mother’s voice, and he wilted a little under the death glare she shot him. She was five-foot-nothing of pure dynamite, and he was rightfully terrified of her - he’d watched her reduce grown men to tears, and heard about worse from back in her prosecutor days. 

Reiko Oikawa was a force to be reckoned with, and Tooru valued his head being connected to his shoulders, so he mumbled an apology and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, Mom.” 

She hummed in acknowledgement, giving Tsuna a look as if to say  _ ‘please keep him in line’ _ . Tsuna nodded back, smiling at her mother - she was the ever capable Tsuna Oikawa, after all. She would do as was expected of her. 

Tooru fiddled with the zip of his jacket, antsy as he tried to quell his anxiety without being a bastard to any members of royalty. His gaze flitted around the cabin of the jet, never staying on anyone or anything for too long. 

The seats were all filled; Secret Service agents, enough to take out a small enemy faction with ease. Tooru was familiar with many of them, but he was especially close to one in particular. Yahaba Shigeru, sitting across the aisle from Tooru himself, was only a couple of years older than him. Tooru could confidently say he had no idea about who the man was, beyond his name, his love-hate of Tooru and his intense peanut allergy. 

Yahaba was always assigned to protect Tooru on visits like this, and he often acted as the kick up the ass that Tooru needed to behave. He was invaluable, but Tooru would never tell him that; he’d rather tease him for his type-A personality or the stick firmly wedged up his ass, instead. 

Yahaba knew Tooru wasn’t good with long-distance travel, nevermind a twelve hour flight from the Capitol to Tokyo. He didn’t offer Tooru a smile, but gave him a stern, silent nod. That was the closest Tooru would get to reassurance from the silver-haired sourpuss and Tooru appreciated it nonetheless. 

Tsuna broke the silence in their section of the cabin once again. “He’s not bringing a date, you know. Apparently he was dating some daughter of a Korean tech company last month, but everyone is up in arms because she’s new money instead of from rich stock.”

“Where do you even hear these things, hm? Special journalist secret messages?”

“Something like that.” Tsuna rolled her eyes, before tossing Tooru the slightly worn copy of the magazine she’d been reading. “It’s probably a bunch of nothing, but it’s what this says. I’ll be interested to see what degree of wrong this one is, to be honest.”

Tooru thumbed the glossy page, a picture of Prince Hajime clad in his finery as he was caught by the paparazzi exiting one of Tokyo’s hottest restaurants. 

Tooru didn’t like the way Hajime wore sunglasses out at night, in a poor attempt at disguise - those green eyes that always pissed Tooru off on sight were being hidden for the sake of the world’s worst shot at sneaking around. Hajime also wore a leather jacket over his white dress shirt, and Oikawa guessed he was really leaning into the whole ‘I’m-the-spare-not-the-heir, I’m-a-bad-boy’ schtick that made the ladies swoon at the sight of him. Again, it pissed off Tooru beyond measure, and he wished that somehow the world knew just how fake this son-of-a-bitch was.

“Anyway, I’m sure if the Little Prince doesn’t have a date to the wedding, he’ll cope. Probably by schmoozing with every woman there, but he’ll cope nonetheless.” Tooru shrugged, stealing one of the salted peanuts Tsuna had been snacking on, tossing it up and catching it in his mouth with ease. He loved using that nickname for Prince Hajime - a literary reference, plus he got to tease him for never quite making it to six-foot-tall. A double whammy, as Takahiro would have called it. “He’s always the same. He finds some girl, dates her for a few weeks, gets bored of her, then moves on.”

“That’s not exactly unlike you, Tooru.” Tsuna pointed out, batting Tooru’s hand away when he tried to steal yet another of her snacks. “Don’t forget, you aren’t an angel either.”

“Excuse me, we both know that ninety-percent of the rumours about my love life are unsubstantiated bullshit.”

“How’d you know it isn’t the same for him? What if this girl, the daughter of that rich tech company guy - what if she is to Prince Hajime what Yachi is to you? A  _ friend _ ?” Tsuna’s carefully groomed brow inched up high on her forehead, and she shrugged as she pondered the answer to her own question. “The thing is, Tooru - we don’t know shit about Prince Hajime. I know you have your weird battle of masculinity with him, but frankly I’m bored of you trying to start a pissing contest every time you see him. Be nice to him for  _ one _ weekend, that’s all I’m asking for, Tooru.”

He sighed, grumbling. He wasn’t the only one at fault, but no one ever cared about that. He relished in his childishness for a moment, lips quirked into a pout, before nodding in acceptance. He looked out the window, across the murky water of the Pacific, and couldn’t help but wish (for a change) that something would shoot them out of the sky into the water, so he didn’t have to act chummy with the one person who  drove him crazy all weekend.

-

If there was anything Tooru enjoyed less than the flight itself, it was dealing with the barrage of press and journalists who would swarm and nearly blind them as the First Family descended the steps down from Air Force One. Between the lengthy flight and the time difference, the First Family had lost a whole day to travelling - they departed from DC in the wee hours of the morning on Thursday, landing at 6AM on Friday in Tokyo. It was jarring and odd, but they’d allowed the day off for the whole family to get some rest. 

Ready to get out of the cabin of Air Force One and into the motorcade the family moved in formation, as they had done for years, and it was perfectly fluid as they moved as a unit to the group of shiny, black, armoured cars. 

Reiko descended the steps of the aircraft first, a Secret Service agent both ahead of her and behind her. She was smiling the smile of a winner as she waved for a moment before entering the first large, black sedan that idled on the tarmac.

Tsuna was next, similarly flanked by Secret Service agents as she descended the steps. Tooru always wondered how on earth she managed to not trip in her Louboutins, but she didn’t even look down at where her steps were going to be as she waved and smiled. She was like a perfectly trained doll, the picture of a new America that the Democrats had been trying to appeal to for years. 

Then, it was Tooru’s turn. Yahaba gave the nod to descend the steps, and the Secret Service agent in front of Tooru began to lead the way. The bright lights of the cameras’ flashes blinded and dizzied Tooru momentarily, and he lifted his hand on instinct to shield and protect his eyes from the jarring bursts. He swiftly turned that motion into a polite, friendly wave - he didn’t want to come across as rude, or as if he was hiding anything in front of the world’s press. 

He was going to be a good boy this weekend.

_ “Tooru!” _

_ “Tooru! Look this way, please!” _

_ “Tooru, are you looking forward to this weekend’s nuptials?” _

_ “Tooru, how are you finding Japan?” _

_ “Tooru, how’s your new girlfriend? Is she attending the wedding with you?” _

It was the last question that caught him off-guard, but Yahaba’s hand was on his shoulder and bundling him into the back of the presidential motorcade before he could even think about formulating a response. It irked Tooru that they invaded so much of his private life, and were more concerned with the contents of his bed than his brain. 

“That was close.” was all Tsuna said as Tooru took his seat next to her in the back of the car. 

“Too close.” Yahaba chastised, giving Tooru a look of warning. “You know better than to listen to the journalists, no matter what they ask. Be careful, hm?”

The car was lit dimly, and it made the agent’s hair glow a champagne gold instead of his usual silver; it suited him, but Tooru wasn’t in the mood for dishing out compliments. He was in the mood for McDonalds and reruns of Scandal. 

The route out of the airport was cleared for the motorcade of black, armoured cars to pass through easily. There were some up-sides to being the First Family of the United States. 

Being in Tokyo made Tooru miss his father even more; Ito Masaki was at his home in California, likely up late working on some new campaign for someone. As Senator of California, he had a lot of responsibility, and besides; he wasn’t sure if the Japanese royals would have invited the ex-husband of the President of the United States to the wedding of their heir. 

Being in Tokyo reminded Tooru of his family trips to visit his grandparents in Miyagi, summers spent speaking his ancestral tongue and friends he’d made as a child, before returning to the States and his memory of them being dampened by time.

He wished they had time to visit his grandma this weekend. 

As if she could sense it, Reiko sighed a little as she looked at her son. “We’ll see them next time, honey.”

“Yeah, it’s fine Mom. Not a big deal.”

“It’s normal to miss them, okay? We just don’t have time this weekend.” Reiko seemed similarly disappointed herself, despite the fact that those Tooru missed so much were her former in-laws. 

Tooru nodded, thinking about his tiny grandmother with her full, round cheeks that screamed love and warmth from the first wisp of a smile on her face. There was always food ready for him, there was always juice in the fridge, there were always hugs on tap for him. He shuddered as he pushed away the thought of his grandmother passing on before he got the chance to say goodbye. He didn’t want to think about it, or even entertain the possibility, but -  _ ‘well, she’s old, and old people die.’ _ he thought bitterly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he sighed. 

Tooru’s only distraction was staring out the window at the eerily empty streets; the route to the American Embassy was being cleared for them, to avoid incidents wherever possible. They were given a police escort, and Tooru thought it was a little excessive. 

The threat level to the First Family were significantly lower in Tokyo than they were in, say, London - they were  _ Japanese _ for fuck’s sake. All eight of Tooru’s great-grandparents were from the same tiny part of Miyagi, he was six-foot-one of full-blooded Japanese stock, and only really American by passport and like, half of his everyday culture. Tooru knew that every precaution was put in place to protect him, his mother and his sister, but sometimes he wished he could walk to the nearest convenience store at four in the morning for a Diet Mountain Dew and a Snickers, if that was what he wanted. 

The drive didn’t take all that long, which Tooru was grateful for - he knew they weren’t staying long in Japan, but he was eager to unpack his things and get comfortable in the bedroom he’d be  confined to staying in for the next few days. 

He, along with his family, were escorted into the Embassy in the same fluid fashion they’d been herded off of Air Force One earlier that day. It was all muscle memory for him by now, and before long, his bags were being laid on his bed by a grumbling Yahaba. 

“The fuck did you pack in here, hm? Did you put your entire wooden closet in here?” Yahaba’s Queens accent slipped out sometimes when he chastised Tooru, and Tooru always had to hold back from teasing him about it - he didn’t think it would be good form to turn up the prince’s wedding in a full body cast because Yahaba had broken all of his bones and folded him up like a pretzel.

“Something like that.” Tooru chuckled, but it was clear to the both of them he was stressed and anxious and  _ exhausted  _ and he really craved his own bed. Not even the one in the West Bedroom, but the one back in Texas that he was definitely too tall for now, and likely still had Star Wars bedsheets on them.

“Try ‘n get some sleep, eh? Big day tomorrow. If I hear you wake me up in the night you better hope it’s a matter of life and death otherwise I’ll break your fingers one by one, volleyball boy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tooru rolled his eyes, waving away Yahaba’s threats but keeping it in mind anyway. He doubted Yahaba was joking, the way that guy liked his regular sleeping pattern. Yahaba was always getting at him, telling him to take better care of himself, and Tooru supposed that was the closest he and Yahaba would get to a normal friendship, beyond the realms of First Son and Secret Service agent. “Sweet dreams, darling Shigeru.”

“Eat shit, Tooru.” There was a smile, sly, and eyes filled with a mirth that you could miss if you didn’t know to look for it, before Yahaba was gone and Tooru was left alone for the first time in over thirteen hours. 

He changed into his pajamas - he was sporting grey and blue plaid pajama pants, that somewhat accidentally matched his university hoodie, with Georgetown emblazoned on the front and a tiny bulldog mascot. He was careful, taking his contacts out and popping them in the case in the en-suite bathroom. Staring at himself in the mirror’s reflection, he couldn’t help but think that he looked like shit with dark rings encircling his chocolate-toned eyes and the hint of the world’s patchiest, sparsest facial hair sprouting from his chin. 

Sighing, he thought about the world’s press bearing down on him over the weekend. He wasn’t self-centered enough to think they were going to spend all weekend on his back, but he’d be stupid not to consider the fact that he, as one of the most famous college students in the world, might need to do a face mask before he got bullied by the entire internet for having a pimple at the royal wedding.

He smoothed the sheet mask over the planes of his face, smoothing the excess serum down the column of his throat. Tooru thought he looked a little silly, with the mask and his purposefully unruly hair pushed back with a headband that Tsuna had given him at Christmas last year, with rhinestone covered cat-ears atop his head. Despite his fatigue, he snapped a few silly pictures with his tongue out and sent them straight away to Hiro.

Tooru felt bad that Hiro wasn’t invited to the wedding, because at least having his best friend with him would have made the whole thing bearable. Maybe they could have sneaked out, getting high out back behind the ridiculous ballroom the reception was being held in. 

Takahiro was back home in DC, though, and it felt weird, like it always did when they were apart. They’d been best friends for years, talking everyday - Tooru was perfectly normal to feel a little antsy without him around.

The reply didn’t take long to appear. The buzz of Tooru’s phone soothed him a little, and he smiled as he clocked that it was indeed Hiro replying to him. He opened the picture, displaying Hiro, shirtless and grinning (as he tended to be in the privacy of his bedroom, though Tooru was trying to forget about that). The caption made his eyes widen and his jaw drop, and he was glad no one was around to see the blush that burned at his ears.

_ ‘if u wanted a facial why didn’t u just ask me bro, smh ;)’ _

He didn’t know how to respond when Hiro got like this - it wasn’t often, but it was enough to be more than a singular occurance. It wasn’t that Tooru felt uncomfortable, it was that he didn’t understand what Hiro was playing at when he flirted with him. 

He decided to rely on the old faithful response, though he wasn’t proud of it.

_ ‘ugh you know i hate begging for u bro, take a hint already’ _

Somewhere in DC, Hanamaki Takahiro laughed at the irony of Tooru’s reply, before tossing his phone out of sight (and out of mind) and returning his attention to the companion lounging in his bed, pressing his lips to the soft, supple skin of her chest with a devious chuckle. 


	2. pushing your buttons, you get away free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a wedding, whiskey and waltzing. What could go wrong?

“You’re a  _ fucking  _ moron, Tooru.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Tooru was currently in an empty corridor at the Prince’s wedding reception, with his mother pinning the side seam of his white dress shirt back together. He’d turned too quickly, stunned by the sound of a loud bang - some kind of indoor firework display, rather than an incendiary device as his brain had immediately jumped to. A logical thought when for the last few years, he’d been trained to react at the first sign of trouble. He’d realised his mistake, and his mother had graciously escorted him out of the ballroom for some privacy. Reiko carried some pins in her purse - she didn’t want a situation like this to end up not taken care of, even if it meant sneaking in a tiny portable sewing kit past the event security. 

“Seriously? What am I going to do with you? Ripping your clothes at a time like this. Be a little more careful, hm?”

As he was chastised by his mother, he stared at the ceiling and waited for the ground to swallow him up whole, because it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Except it most definitely could, because the universe hated him, and his nightmare was made a harrowing reality by the sight of Prince Hajime exiting the bathroom. The prince’s eyes of jade landed on Tooru, recognising him instantly; something in his green eyes flickered, but Tooru wasn’t sure whether it was annoyance at Tooru’s presence or glee at Tooru being fixed up by his  _ mommy  _ at the grand age of twenty-one. 

Tooru was not above rolling his eyes at members of royal families, but he didn’t want to face the wrath of his mother (who was currently armed with a barrage of fabric pins, and just generally rather terrifying when she wanted to be). 

Prince Hajime nodded his head at Tooru in acknowledgement, but there was none of the polite smile he shot at every other guest at this awfully drab combination torture session/wedding. Tooru knew that the Little Prince probably didn’t even realise what he was doing; the look of disdain always crept in whenever Hajime looked at Tooru’s face, at whichever event they’d been unlucky to both be invited to. 

Prince Hajime did act differently than usual, though. He approached Tooru and his mother, arming himself with his charming smile as he closed the distance in the empty corridor.

“Madame President, what a pleasure to have you attend my brother’s wedding. You look absolutely radiant, if I do say so.” His English was perfect, his voice the epitome of a generic American accent - it was like talking to someone straight out of a teen drama. Tooru knew that Hajime had attended NYU, so it made sense.

Tooru thought he was going to vomit. 

“Why, thank you, Prince Hajime. That’s awfully sweet of you.” Reiko returned the polite smile, switching to her ancestral tongue. Tooru knew she was somewhat showing off, and it threatened to pull a smile to his lips - but he was too busy sulking, so he pushed it away without another thought. “You look rather handsome in your suit, actually. It’d be nice if my Tooru could scrub up this well, hm? And preferably  _ without  _ tearing a brand new Tom Ford shirt at the seams.”

Tooru clenched his jaw. Embarrassed, he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the memory while it was still happening. “Thanks, Mom.”

Hajime was looking at him, he could tell without even opening his eyes. Tooru heard his low chuckle, and the audible mirth ricocheted deep in Tooru’s stomach. 

Tooru wished for a single incident involving the prince that didn’t make him feel an incomprehensible amount of shame. Just one. Alas, the universe took no pity on him, and when he pried his eyes open, the prince was looking up at him - green eyes dark, intense, staring at him with a kind of caution that made Tooru need to clear his throat. The difference between their heights was slight, but Tooru noticed it all the same. He  _ really _ needed to clear his throat.

That made the prince look away from Tooru, focusing his gaze on Reiko. “Well, Madame President, I probably shouldn’t steal too much of your time - you need to dress your child, after all. I’ll be going, but I do hope we get a chance to dance together later on, hm?”

“That sounds lovely, your Highness.” Reiko’s smile was warm and she followed the royal etiquette closely as she spoke. She was a seasoned pro at the rules and regulations of royalty at this point, having entertained monarchs from around the world, and it showed in each polished, poised gesture she made. 

“Ah, Madame President - please, call me Hajime.” A warm smile was shot Reiko’s way, and Tooru averted his gaze from Hajime, staring at the tapestry that lined the wall on one side of the corridor. 

If he wasn’t mistaken, it depicted the story of a pair of lovers forbidden to be together because of family politics, so they were cursed to live their lives together as songbirds, sweeping through the skies of old. Not exactly wedding decor, if you asked Tooru, but then again, no one was going to. 

“Well, I really must be going. Enjoy yourselves, it’s a celebration after all.” Hajime turned, dipping his head politely as he began to exit the passageway. He did, however, turn back slightly before rounding the corner to throw a comment over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Tooru.”

-

  
  


Tooru’s misery didn’t cease. 

The dinner had been long - he was glad that Tsuna had schooled him on his etiquette on the drive to the event, because he was presented with frankly  _ too many  _ forks. Tooru made polite conversation with the others seated at the table with himself, his mother and sister - he was fairly sure they were some lower-ranking British royals, but he couldn’t be sure. He smiled and nodded at their painfully unfunny jokes all the same, like a trained show pony going through the motions. 

He was still hungry even after an incessant number of courses, with all the food being the tiniest portions he’d ever seen in his life - was it the Texan in him, craving more than a mouthful of food on his plate? Or was it the fact he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days, between the long flight and catching up with sleep? Either way, he craved more than the tiny bites laid out in front of him. He couldn’t wait to go home and get Taco Bell on the way home from the airstrip. 

Maybe he should have taken the free champagne and the open bar a little more sparingly. 

Tooru’s finger tapped the champagne flute in a slightly bored manner as he sat back in his seat, watching the world’s upper echelons twirl around the dancefloor. His mother was one of them, her tiny frame being whizzed around in a spin by the King of Belgium, if Tooru wasn’t mistaken. Despite his extensive people watching, he barely noticed as a figure approached the table where he and Tsuna were idly chatting.

“Sorry to interrupt the two of you,” came a deep voice from Tooru’s side. 

It startled him, seconds from spilling his drink down the front of his shirt - that was the last thing he needed. Lifting his gaze, it landed on Prince Hajime, who was smiling politely at the two of them. 

“I was hoping I could trouble you for a spin round the dancefloor.”

Tooru’s jaw opened and closed, his eyes widening - was he asking Tooru to dance with him? Was he  _ insane _ ? 

His thoughts raced for a second as he anxiously wondered just  _ how  _ Hajime was trying to embarrass him, before he was snapped out of it. 

Tsuna rose to her feet next to Tooru, setting her champagne flute down carefully, and the grim heat of embarrassment flushed Tooru’s ears a cherry red. Her dainty hand slipped into Hajime’s larger one, with the prince pressing a chaste, closed-mouth kiss on the back of her hand. His eyes were trained on Tooru for the briefest of moments, but it irked Tooru in his core.

Now, why had he assumed Hajime was asking him to dance, when his  _ sister  _ was right there? 

He wished quietly that he could talk to Hiro about it. Then, flashbacks to a dark hotel room threatened to creep into focus, and he flushed harder. 

Maybe  _ not _ .

“Be careful,” was the only comment Tooru had, playing nice but playful as he shot the two of them a smile. He drained the last of his drink in one swift motion, taking his sister’s abandoned drink for himself as she was led to the dancefloor by Hajime.

Tooru watched them for a little while. He saw them share a joke, a smile on both their faces as they spoke. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the thought of the prince flirting with his sister didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t like the idea of Tsuna being used as a PR stunt. 

He noticed then that his sister was beautiful - she’d gotten all the best features from their parents, inside and out. Their mother’s plump lips, their father’s high cheekbones - they came together in a way that was very  _ Tsuna _ . 

Tooru thought she could be a princess herself, like when they played pretend as children, with the way she twirled around the dancefloor in a flurry of the soft, lavender fabric of her dress. She was graceful, and she looked quite the pair with Hajime - she was all soft edges and he was all harsh lines, and they suited each other. 

Tooru hated that.

He ripped his eyes away from the dancing duo, making a beeline for the bar. He  _ really  _ didn’t like his sister being that close to the royal douchebag - he needed a stiff drink to soothe his frazzled nerves. 

Tooru had inherited his mother’s drinking habits; he was presented with an old-fashioned whiskey, neat, in a crystal tumbler worth more than he liked to think about. He leaned against the bar, sipping on the brown nectar and avoiding looking too closely at anyone. He was a bachelor in his prime, the picture of purposefully crafted perfection with his hair  _ just  _ the right kind of messy and his tall, athletic body filling his suit. It was quite the sight to see, and Tooru was aware that he had the kind of appearance that drew people in - at least on a superficial level. He made polite conversation with heads of state as he savoured his drink, the bitterness making his jaw clench as he swallowed. He made all the right noises, um-ing and ah-ing when he was supposed to, like he’d been taught to since childhood. 

Adults used to love him when he was growing up - they found it sweet that this little boy could hold a conversation about economic tariffs, the US’ relationship with the EU and NATO at a moment’s notice. Now, they were of the opinion that he was a product of his mother’s presidency - a walking, talking reelection campaign. They probably weren’t wrong, but there were plenty of ways he and his mother disagreed on politics. He wouldn’t dare disrupt her campaign by advertising that, though. 

Tooru’s train of thought was thwarted by a new, deep voice at his side. 

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.” 

That voice grated on Tooru’s alcohol-soaked nerves, causing his jaw to clench as he turned his head towards the new arrival.

“Prince Hajime.”

“Tooru.”

The exchange was tense, but the both of them had their rehearsed, placid smiles pulled over their features. Tooru’s hand, the one not clutching the crystal tumbler of top-shelf whiskey, was curled into a fist at his side.

“How’s life in the White House?”

“Same old, same old. Where are you staying at the moment? Last I heard you were flitting around Monaco.”

Hajime’s gaze shifted uneasily, before meeting Tooru’s again. Tooru thought it was odd, the first time that the prince had ever shown a sign of discomfort in front of him, but made no comment on it as he listened to Hajime speak. “I’m back in Tokyo for a bit. Looks good if the family is united around the wedding.”

“Huh, didn’t picture you as a PR expert.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tooru.”

“I know enough.” Tooru’s smile was sickly sweet as he raised his glass to Hajime, before draining the last of the brown liquor in one swallow. He let out an exhale as the liquid slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out, which was honestly unnecessary in the heat of the packed ballroom.

Hajime laughed coldly in response. “I doubt it. Enjoy yourself, Tooru.” The prince turned, walking away from Tooru. 

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he was tired of Prince Perfect always having the last word. He set his empty drink on the bar, following Hajime as he walked away. Tooru plucked yet another flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter with a polite smile. Before he could catch up, though, Tsuna cornered him. Probably for the better, if Tooru thought about it - it probably wouldn’t do well to cause a scene at a wedding, especially not one as high-profile as this.

“Tooru, why do you look like you’re about to do something stupid?” Tsuna raised her eyebrow, linking her arm through her younger brother’s in order to subtly keep him close - she wasn’t going to let him make a fool out of them today.

“You always think I’m going to do something stupid.”

“And I’m always right.” Tsuna rolled her eyes, accepting the glass of champagne offered to her by a passing waiter. She kept her grip on Tooru’s arm firm, as if she was restraining a toddler from running amok in the grocery store. “What’s got your panties in a bunch? You look like someone took away your favourite toy.”

“Nothing. I just spoke to Prince Prick, that’s all.” Tooru sighed, looking down at his shoes and scuffing his toe lightly against the floor. “He pisses me off, always having the last word.”

“You don’t have to win all the time, Tooru.” 

“It’d be nice to win sometimes, Tsuna.”

“I think as a middle class man, who’s mother is the most powerful woman in the world, you win plenty,” Tsuna deadpanned. She wasn’t letting a tipsy Tooru hop on the train to Self-pity-ville today.

Tooru knew she was right, which was irritating. She always was, just like she’d said. Tooru sighed, but smiled - he pushed all thoughts of the infuriating prince out of his mind, instead turning the conversation to something a little lighter. “How was your spin around the dancefloor, then? Did he make you  _ swoon _ ?”

Tsuna laughed into her drink, her eyes smiling as she did so. “He was perfectly lovely. But, Tooru?”

“Hm?”

“You shouldn’t be so jealous.Green isn’t your colour.”

“What the fu-” Tooru cut himself off, shooting his sister an accusatory glare. “What are you talking about?”

“Like you don’t know.” 

“I don’t.”

“You hate it when Prince Hajime doesn’t devote his whole attention to you, even if he’s just teasing you. You get all angry and you act out, like a rejected puppy. It’s funny.”

Tooru’s glare sharpened at his sister, and he subtly flipped her off as he pulled his arm out of the link with hers. “I do not. Shut up.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Tsuna knew she’d fully wound up Tooru, smiling innocently as she spoke. She could see the way the cogs of Tooru’s brain were turning, screeching as he overthought every interaction he’d shared with Prince Hajime over the years. It brought her immense joy to torment her baby brother. 

“Tsuna, I hate you.” 

“Sure, whatever you say.” She echoed, her voice breaking as she barely stifled her laughter. “I’m going to go rescue Mom from that diplomat over there, so behave.”

“I always do.”

Tooru knew that was a lie before he even spoke. Tsuna did too, by the look of the sharp gaze she shot his way as she walked off to go help her mother out of an awkward encounter with the British ambassador to Japan. 

He was thoroughly tipsy by this point - not drunk, but definitely a little less steady on his feet than he should be. He also definitely lacked the inhibition to make logical decisions, and besides - when else was he going to get the opportunity to irritate that bastard? They weren’t friends, they lived on different continents - this was his shot to get the final word for  _ once _ when it came to Hajime.

He strode across the room. Hajime was standing near the ornate wedding cake - Tooru heard it cost close to $100,000 and that the Emperor had personally flown out one of the top bakers in Paris, especially to craft the four foot tall tower of cake. Each layer was covered in stacks upon stacks of intricately sculpted flowers, handmade out of at least three different types of chocolate. Tooru’s alcohol lined stomach rumbled and his mouth watered at the sight of it. Later, he told himself, he would enjoy every mouthful of that obscenely expensive cake he could manage.

It wasn’t hard for him to find the confidence to approach Hajime, despite the other’s status - Tooru would be lying if he said the magic of royalty hadn’t worn off somewhat over the years, having met seemingly every royal family to grace the earth. Tooru’s eyes were firmly locked on Hajime as he spoke to his friend - Tooru recognised him as Issei Matsukawa, the heir and philanthropist. They’d spoken once, but Tooru doubted he remembered. Issei seemingly was off to the bar to indulge himself in a drink, and Hajime was alone for a moment or so before Tooru arrived at his side. 

Tooru had grabbed Hajime another flute of champagne on his journey across the cavernous ballroom towards him - if he was going to pick a fight, he would at least start out with a treat for his opponent. He was nice like that.

“For you.” Tooru extended the champagne to Hajime, who cocked his head curiously to the side, but accepted the drink. Tooru could see Hajime wasn’t sure what the motivation was behind the olive branch being offered his way; it would almost be adorable, the natural suspicion that painted Hajime’s features making him seem more youthful. Tooru knew they were only three years apart in age, but it was easy to think Hajime was older than that with his old-fashioned behaviour. 

Hajime had been trotted out in three piece suits almost as soon as he could walk, Tooru knew that - they were both poster boys for their families’ successes, and Hajime had been playing this game a long time. Tooru wondered for a second if that changed him, but pushed away his thoughts as he began to speak. “So, how are you?”

“Forgive me, Tooru, but when have you attempted a grown up conversation with me?”

“Well, maybe I’m more full of surprises than you thought.”

“Or you want something.”

“How rude, Iwa-chan.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Iwa-chan. Don’t you like it?”

“If you call me that again, I swear to God I’ll-”

“Now, now. That’s not very princely.” Tooru knows he’s winning, today. So far, at least. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. How are you?”

“I’m at my older brother’s wedding, in a suit that is so tight around my stomach I can barely breathe, being irritated by a dumb American who thinks he’s God’s gift to the world. How do you think I am?”

“So you’re having a wonderful time. Noted.”

“Funny.”

“I am, aren’t I? See, now you’re getting it. I knew one day you’d stop denying the obvious man-crush you have on me, and admit that you’re jealous because my hair is  _ so  _ much better than yours.”

The prince stiffened, taking a sip of the champagne Tooru had brought to him. “Look, can you just leave me alone? I don’t want to talk to you. At all.” 

“You know, it’s funny that you say that. I didn’t do  _ shit _ to you and you always hated me.” 

“I never hated you, I just don’t care about you at all. And you can’t stand that someone doesn’t have any particular feeling towards you, because you’re a selfish narcissist with the personality of a silicone-injected bimbo from Scottsdale, Arizona.”

“What the fu-”

Tooru glowered at him, cutting himself off. He was irritating, he knew that - it was part of his charm. And it was fake. He was livid at the thought that Prince Hajime had read him so wrong, and possibly for so long. He clenched his fist, adjusting his weight on the balls of his feet with a deep, angry sigh. His stance shifted as he prepared to snap at the prince, but his back met with another one of the esteemed guests. 

Prince Hajime’s arm shot out, pulling Tooru forward by the dress shirt, to stop him from causing a scene with any of the wedding guests. Tooru, clumsy from the hours of wine, whiskey and no water, tried to shrug him off as he stumbled, sending them both tumbling headfirst into the table carrying the $100,000 wedding cake. 

Photographers swarmed, and all Tooru could see amongst the clumps of rose-flavoured cake, icing of varying pink hues and petal-shaped marzipan and chocolate decorations that had covered the two men, head to toe, was an infuriated Prince Hajime giving him the dirtiest look he could muster.

Tooru was in big trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to say a very merry christmas to anyone who celebrates! thank you for all the love on the first chapter, i hope you all enjoy this second instalment just as much.
> 
> drink plenty of water today, and stay safe everyone. <3
> 
> find me on twitter (@bluenimi) or discord (effie#4262)!


	3. take your time, take my time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru wasn’t sure he was going to like this solution any more than the ‘fake-his-death’ option.

The news reports weren’t pretty. 

The story broke almost instantly, with guests and reporters posting on social media about the toppled cake and the two men splayed out under layers of frosting. 

  
  


_ ‘PRINCE PUMMELS AMERICA’S FIRST SON’ _

_ ‘SON OF POTUS ATTACKS PRINCE OF JAPAN’ _

_ ‘CAKEGATE: THE FIRST SON’S FEUD WITH JAPAN PRINCE ‘ _

It was humiliating - the pictures of him showed Tooru splayed out on the floor, covered head to toe in imported Parisian icing with his limbs tangled together with those of that absolute  _ moron _ of a prince. 

The picture clearly showed Prince Hajime, expression dark as he glowered at Tooru, and Tooru’s dumbfounded expression as he took in the gravity of the situation. It was almost laughable, the way he looked like a toddler caught in the middle of destroying his mother’s pristine white carpet with an array of colourful acrylic paints. 

Except in reality he’d ruined a wedding cake that cost more than the average US salary, as well as any shred of respect his mother had for him. 

“I cannot believe you. Like, I knew you were a fucking moron, but  _ Jesus _ , Tooru.” His sister’s voice was exasperated. Tooru cringed at it - he knew that she had every right to be angry, of course, but it didn’t stop the tone from bruising his already wounded pride. He hadn’t meant to ruin things, it was an accident - but who would believe that when he and the prince had been bickering for as long as they had? Who would listen to Tooru when he said he hadn’t meant to cause a scene?

The two siblings were spread out on the queen-sized bed in Tsuna’s room at the American Embassy. Tooru was wrapped up in a fluffy robe and his hair wet from the shower, and he could safely say he’d never been so happy to bathe in his life - the smell of frosting as it matted together in his hair was nauseating, and it didn’t help that his embarrassment was making him feel rather queasy too. It was like he could scrub away the shame if he tried hard enough, and he was fairly certain his skin was rubbed raw because of it.

“Look, it was an accident. Even ask the prince, okay? I didn’t push him, or trip him or anything, like the tabloids are saying.” Tooru’s voice was small, sighing as he rubbed a hand over his face, still calloused from his place on the university volleyball team. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, Tooru. It was an accident, you didn’t mean to. You never mean to, but this - this is going to take quite some sorting out.” Tsuna sighs before reaching to hold her baby brother’s hand. “Just try and be on your best behaviour for a while, alright? We need to fix this. For Mom.”

“I know.”

“Good. Now, are you staying in here for facemasks and chick flicks?”

There was barely half a second of consideration before Tooru spoke. “ _ Obviously _ .”

As the opening credits ran on, Tooru closed his eyes. He wished for an end to this whole thing, but he knew he was far from escaping the clutches of the media. This wasn’t something that would fade out like every other faux pas he had ever made in the public eye, and he knew that very well. He just had to try his best. 

\---

Yahaba wasn’t as kind. 

He’d been the one to really yell at Tooru, his frustration at its peak as he recounted all the ways in which he was going to make Tooru’s existence difficult. He was thorough, Tooru had to give him that at least.

“I know, okay? Why does everyone seem to think I have no concept of how it’s going to be a big issue for us if it seems like I have beef with Prince Dick-jime?” 

“Because, Tooru, you’ve not really given a shit about other people’s opinions for a while now. And you tend to have no concept of other people or how they might interpret things that you say or do.”

Tooru pretended it didn’t hurt to be treated like a child, because he knew that it  _ was _ partly his fault. He shouldn’t have gone so hard on the champagne, he knew that - but did anyone recognise his problems? How much he hated being there? How stressed he was? 

Tooru decided against voicing these opinions, instead choosing to sit there and receive his scolding like a good boy (for once). He also chose to hold back the remark about how he was  _ very _ aware of what people thought about him - he was going to be a politician, for crying out loud. He’d be a fool not to craft a careful image, one that would help him in a decade when he’s trying to make inroads and secure a bid for the youngest presidential win in history. Or something.

“May I remind you that these are only the select newspapers that I picked up from the convenience store a block away from here? You’re all over every news outlet in Japan, the    
United States - hell, Tooru, even the Europeans are reporting on this, okay? This is a big deal.” Yahaba sighs, running a hand over his forehead. 

Tooru winced, sinking lower in his seat as he thought about his mother’s approval rating back home. He would do what he was told, but this was definitely not going to be easily solved. It was when Reiko Oikawa herself entered the room, clearly having been up all night once again, that Tooru really felt guilty.

“Mom, I’m—” 

“Can it, trouble, I don’t want to hear it,” his mother began. She took her seat at the head of the table in the American Embassy’s conference room, manila document folders set down neatly in front of her. Tooru could tell from the angle he was sitting at that the first folder had his name clearly labelled on the front of it - he wasn’t sure exactly what the thick stacks of paper would detail about him, but he was sure it wasn’t good that it existed at all.

“Tooru Oikawa, as your mother, I want to just let you know that I know this was an accident. An expensive, embarrassing accident, but an accident all the same.” Reiko ran a hand through her chin-length black hair, pushing the strands out of her face as she spoke. “But, as President, I would really like to ask Yahaba here to fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy parade straight through into a second term in office.”

Tooru swallowed; the only scary part was that he knew she was deadly serious, and that Yahaba would comply without hesitance at the command. It was his job, after all.

“That, however, would be a shitty move on my part, as your mom. So here’s what we’re going to do,” Reiko continued, and Tooru wasn’t sure he was going to like this solution any more than the ‘fake-his-death’ option. “ _ You _ are not flying back to the United States with us this evening. Instead, you will be extending your trip here. We’ve already contacted your professors at university and they have assured us you will not be missing any classes of note, and that all study materials will be emailed over to you. In the meantime, you will be undertaking the biggest PR nightmare in living memory. You and Prince Hajime both, anyway. You have the rest of today, and a few hours after dawn tomorrow, to memorise this dossier.” Reiko slides one of the manila folders towards Tooru, and much like the one on top, it was labelled - though this time with the family crest of the imperial family of Japan, and ‘ _ HRH Prince Hajime’  _ emblazoned on the top of it. 

Tooru visibly gawped, his jaw dropping low and his eyes growing wide. “Mom, I can’t—”

“Oh, you most certainly can, Tooru. And you  _ will _ , which is more important.”

Tooru’s look of defeat almost brought out a smile in Yahaba, and Tooru made a mental note to irritate the light out of him over the next few days, as he would certainly be the poor soul assigned with protecting Tooru while the rest of the First Family returned home. Tooru thumbed the file open, sighing a little, but he nodded to his mother as he began skimming the bullet pointed list that formed part of this insanely detailed fact file.

Tooru was in big trouble.

\---

The rest of the day had passed without incident, to the point where Tooru nearly willed some mixup to happen so at least it felt like the world was turning properly. The folder and the factsheet had become his newest best friends, and for a moment he couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t absorbing every piece of information about Prince Hajime.

Though, judging by the thick cardstock the information had been printed on, this wasn’t from the Embassy’s crappy printer downstairs. No, this was from the Palace. Or at least, it was from a member of the imperial staff. Tooru felt bad that some poor secretary somewhere had likely been forced to type it all out and print it on the thick white expanse of the paper sheet. 

He would have to give them points for attention to detail, at least.

He said his goodbyes to his mother and sister around forty-five minutes before they were supposed to leave, and that was when his mother dropped the final bomb on him - he was to be staying in the same house as Prince Hajime from tonight. There would be a photo-op as the two reunited in seemingly blissful friendship, before they would likely return back to the Prince’s lodgings and ignore each other as much as they could manage. 

“Seriously, Tooru. It isn’t that much of a big deal, and I’m sure the prince’s residence is way nicer than this government building.” Tsuna tried to point out the brighter side of the situation, but he didn’t feel any less uncomfortable about being trapped in a building with that pompous prince. “Besides, it’s not like just  _ anyone _ can stay there. They must be bringing out the big guns to convince Prince Hajime to even host you for the time you’re staying, nevermind staying in his  _ home _ .”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tooru waved her away, instead focusing on plastering his signature smile over his face. He smoothed out any imperfection, the picture of political pedigree as he avoided his older sister’s gaze. “Have a safe flight back, okay? Text me when you land, if you’re not too tired.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tsuna echoed, a grin pulling at the corners of her plump mouth. 

“Tooru?” It was his mother’s voice, softer than its usual firm and somewhat deep tone. 

He trained his gaze on his mother, tilting his head down to correct the near foot-high difference between their statures. “Yes, Mom?”

“You’re going to be fine. If you put half as much effort into this weekend as you did to stealing my whiskey when you were a teenager, you should be fine.” 

He grinned, charming as always, but the look he shared with Tsuna would expose his fear of being caught for much worse. “It’ll be fine, Mom. You’re right. Now go, before I start another international incident by making you late for your flight?” It wasn’t his best joke, but it was enough to reassure his mom and sister that he would, in fact, be able to cope without them for a couple of days. He didn’t know if it was a lame attempt to convince himself, too, but either way - he wasn’t going to give in under pressure. That wasn’t the Tooru Oikawa way. 

\---

He was grateful that he hadn’t brought too many clothes with him outside of his suit for the wedding. It meant that packing for his stay at the imperial residence wasn’t going to be too much of a toll on his already precarious emotional state. 

Folding a shirt, he packed away the nerves and shame that had plagued him since the apex of the weekend. He didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. He had photographers and members of the press to convince that he and the prince were, in fact, the best of friends. The thought of pretending to be fond of Prince Hajime for this long was mildly nauseating, but that too got packed away, neatly nestled in his luggage between his freshly-ironed underwear (the laundry room had done that on Tooru’s behalf, he swore) and the frayed hem of his alien-themed pajamas. He ran his fingers over the aged cotton, wondering for a second how he could still fit in nightwear from all those years - but he remembered that growth wasn’t always physical, and although he had grown up a lot, he still remained the six-foot-one boy with a volleyball player’s physique. 

The evening passed quicker without his mother and sister around. The Embassy staff seemed less on edge than usual, and he realised that they were probably glad to get rid of him too. Tooru felt a little guilty - the whole building was tense with each passing moment that any of the First Family spent in its walls. He knew about the pressures they felt to make sure everything was okay, but the only positive he could think about was that he would be out of their hair soon enough. Then he’d be Prince Hajime’s problem. 

He liked the sound of that.

Tooru knew what the weekend would entail; signing documents, taking photographs, being excessively chummy with an arrogant prick of a prince and a quota of social media posts.

He decided to get a headstart - nothing too bold, just a tweet.

> tooru ☑️ (@toorukawa)
> 
> can’t wait to spend this weekend annoying @HRH_Hajime :)

He watched as the likes and retweets poured in, and upon checking his verified tab, he noticed the response from the prince.

> Iwaizumi Hajime ☑️ (@HRH_Hajime)
> 
> @toorukawa I’m sure we’ll have a great time together. 

There was something about the response that made Tooru certain that the prince had replied personally, rather than relying on the imperial press team to deal with Tooru’s interaction. For some reason, the idea of Hajime holding back his distaste for Tooru for even a second made Tooru grin wildly to himself, amused at the game the two of them had to play on their families’ behalf. 

Thinking about it, he wasn’t the only one who had made a huge mess for their family, and arguably Prince Hajime had a lot more pressure to deal with. Realistically, Hajime had been born into this, so he needed to keep the media and the public (and his family, for that matter) on his side a little more than Tooru did. Tooru could fade out of the public eye and get a mundane job somewhere if he wanted, but Hajime? He was stuck with this life forever, whether or not he liked it. 

Tooru put his phone away then, ready to pack his things into the back of the car that would be escorting himself and Yahaba to the prince’s residence. It was weird, he thought, that he would be spending the next couple of days with Prince Hajime, pretending to be his best friend when neither of them could particularly stand the other at all. He would have to adapt, and he just hoped that Prince Hajime was quick enough to keep up with Tooru’s act. 

\---

The journey was a little over half an hour from the point Yahaba knocked on Tooru’s bedroom door at the Embassy to pulling up at the Prince’s residence. It was a little outside the city, and Tooru would be honest if he admitted he had no idea what it was going to be like. He was half expecting to be taken to some bachelor pad that looked out over the lights of the Tokyo skyline, but instead he was greeted with the sight of an almost normal looking house. The heavy security came in the form of an imposing gated fence manned by armed guards, but the security detail wasn’t anything particularly different to what Tooru himself was used to. 

Tooru had been briefed by Yahaba on the drive - Tooru was to get out of the car at the front gate, with Yahaba in tow, and there would be a small crowd of photographers ready to capture the moment Tooru and the prince reunited with rehearsed smiles and possibly the most awkward hug that Tooru would ever experience. He wasn’t nervous about the theatrics of it all, but the cameras seemed a lot more imposing now that Tooru was here. 

He knew there was a little wait as the prince’s security verified their arrival, and Tooru trained his gaze out of the dark tinted windows of the black sedan at the prince’s house. He couldn’t quite reconcile how  _ nice _ it looked; surely, with Hajime’s antics in the public eye, he would be more in the market for a party pad than a homely cottage outside the city. Tooru studied it for those few minutes of peace - he drank in the sight of the carefully maintained plants, the way there wasn’t a single piece of gravel out of place on the wide driveway, the way that lavender lined the path up to the front door. It reminded Tooru of his grandmother’s house in Miyagi - he bit the inside of his cheek lightly. It wasn’t time to think about her. Not now. It also reminded him of his childhood home - the one waiting back in Texas, the one he still kept the front door key for. He didn’t like the way that this place felt comfortable already, like Tooru had been here a thousand times before. 

The knock on the windshield of the black sedan signalled that it was time to begin the charade. Tooru took a deep breath, finally meeting the eyes of Yahaba. They shared a look, and Yahaba gave him a nod before exiting the vehicle on his side. He was the one to open Tooru’s door on the other side of the car, and Tooru wanted to laugh a little - it always was a little weird for Yahaba to appear so courteous in front of the press, when Yahaba was the rudest little shit when it was just the two of them alone. Getting out of the car, his winning smile was plastered onto his face. For effect, he ran a hand through his chestnut curls - there was no harm in looking pretty in front of all those cameras, after all. He spotted that the gates were open, now, and the Little Prince himself was leaving his front door to greet him.

Prince Hajime was dressed nicely - if you call a silky button-up shirt and some of the best fitting jeans Tooru had ever seen ‘nice’ - and it startled Tooru for a second. Tooru supposed it was because he was used to seeing him dressed up in all his formal finery for the events they always seemed to attend together. Objectively, Tooru knew that Hajime was good-looking, but he had never really  _ thought _ about it until now. 

Hajime had that infuriating smile - the one that Tooru knew made the ladies swoon and fall at his feet - and for a moment, Tooru’s own mask was in danger of slipping, but he caught himself before his eyes could roll dramatically. The prince was in front of him now, and for a moment it seemed like Hajime wasn’t sure what boundary of physical touch he could breach, but Tooru solved that. 

“Iwa-chan!” He called out, pulling the prince in for a faux-familiar hug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Tooru’s mask didn’t slip as he whispered against the shell of Hajime’s ear. “If you fuck this up, I will literally cry in front of all these photographers and make everyone hate you.” It was still melodic, and as their hug broke, Tooru could tell that his sing-song tone had riled up Hajime if the dark look in his eyes were anything to go by. 

“Come on, Tooru - let’s get inside, it’s a little cold outside.” Until that point, Tooru had doubted just how much of a pro Hajime was at playing the game, but it would take more than being able to keep his cool in front of the cameras to convince Tooru that Hajime wasn’t going to mess up this whole fake-best-friends scenario. 

Tooru agreed, allowing Hajime to lead him inside his home. The smell of the lavender was strong as they walked up the path, and Tooru tried not to think about how much he missed home. 

Yahaba followed behind them, carrying his bag and Tooru’s with ease - Tooru had momentarily forgotten Yahaba was even with them, and he knew that Yahaba would kick his ass later for forcing him to carry his things. He cringed at the thought, but he had no time to lament about his future ass-kicking as he was greeted by the sight of the prince’s bodyguard. Whatever Tooru had expected of the Yahaba-equivalent, it certainly wasn’t some punk dude with wildly bleached hair (that looked kind of like a tennis ball, or maybe a bee, with it’s black stripes encircling his head) and multiple facial piercings, accompanied by layer upon layer of black eyeliner. 

“This is Kyoutani, he’ll be with us when we go do the, uh, the photo-ops and stuff.” Hajime introduced the man, and Tooru offered him a polite smile and a quiet ‘hey’ in return. Kyoutani gave him a nod, and that seemed to be the end of that. 

“Uh, we’ll have dinner later, if you want. I don’t really have guests much, but your people sent the chef a list of stuff you eat.” Hajime seemed nervous, his mouth tripping over the English syllables and his fingers scratching at the back of his neck. It seemed that Tooru wasn’t the only one not looking forward to the undeniably awkward series of events that this little PR-remedy would entail. 

“Iwa-chan, do you know that I can talk in Japanese? Don’t stress yourself out so much with the languages.” Tooru grinned, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet and his heels repeatedly. The melodic tone was back, teasing the prince, but now they were safely away from the cameras Hajime allowed a scowl to spread over his features, complete with a deeply furrowed brow. Tooru thought it was funny, like Hajime was a hedgehog and trying his hardest to seem imposing. 

“Whatever. And stop calling me that.”

“Calling you what?”

“ _ Iwa-chan _ , you idiot.”

“But Iwa-chan, have you forgotten? We’re  _ besties _ now.”

Hajime didn’t answer, but he left the room. Tooru was left standing in the open foyer of Hajime’s home, watching his slipper-clad feet disappear upstairs. Tooru could have sworn they were little kittens, complete with little ears and whiskers, and he struggled to reconcile something so cute with the prickly prince. 

“I’ll show you to your room, Mr. Oikawa.” Kyoutani offered, taking Tooru’s bag from Yahaba. Tooru was surprised by the soft, quiet tone of his voice, and it dialled Tooru’s obnoxiousness back down to its usual level. 

“Tooru is fine, Kyoutani.” Tooru smiled, genuine, as he tried to give a better impression of himself towards the prince’s bodyguard. “And let’s go, I’m sure Yahaba here is racing to be rid of me for the day.”

Tooru swore he heard a soft “too damn right” muttered behind him, but being the darling that he is, he chose to ignore it as he followed the prince’s equerry to the room Tooru would call his for the remainder of his stay in Tokyo. 

\---

“I can’t believe you’re at his  _ house _ , Tooru.”

Tooru sighed down the phone line, the international call crackling as he did so. Takahiro was laughing at him, teasing him for his misfortune yet again. Although Takahiro had been one of the few people who didn’t yell at Tooru for his involvement in the cake fiasco, he’d made it perfectly clear that he was enjoying every second of Tooru’s pain while being locked up like a damsel in distress at the royal residence. 

“Me neither. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

“I bet it is,” Takahiro agrees, and Tooru can almost hear his indignation towards the prince in Takahiro’s voice - he knew that his friend had nothing against Hajime personally, unlike Tooru, but rather had a distaste for any kind of power that came from a family. Ironic, as Takahiro’s proximity to the political sphere was certainly because of nepotism, but Tooru wasn’t going to point that out to him. “I heard they made a fuckin’ powerpoint or some shit about him that you had to memorise.”

Tooru grumbled as he leaned over towards his bag, retrieving the fact sheet that he’d shoved in the side pocket for easy access. “Something like that. They gave me a thousand-page fact file on the bastard. I swear, by the sound of these, he’s the most boring person in the world.”

Tooru shoves his feet into the slippers at the side of the bed he’d be occupying later that night, holding the phone to his ear with one hand and flipping through the pages with his other as best as he could. He let his restless feet carry him out of the bedroom - he knew that Hajime’s room was somewhere on the other side of the enormous home, so it wasn’t like he would embarrass himself by ridiculing the prince in front of him. 

“Oh yeah? Go on, tell me something about him.”

“Apparently, his favourite author is Charles Dickens. Who actually  _ enjoys _ Dickens? I remember reading ‘Great Expectations’ in high school and wanting to  _ weep _ with how goddamn boring it was.”

“Yo, you actually read that? I thought you just used Sparknotes like everyone else.”

Tooru huffed, grumbling as he let himself into the sanctuary of the guest kitchen. He’d been shown here earlier that day by Kyoutani and was given the go-ahead to snack upon whatever he wished - what better time than now?

As he continued rattling off the talking points that made Hajime seem more and more like a 2D person with no personality, rather than a walking-talking human being with hobbies and interests, Tooru raided the cupboards, settling for a bowl of the sugariest cereal that the stocked pantry had to offer. He curled up with it, thumbing through the neatly organised pages with snarky comments galore as he shovelled spoonful after spoonful of Lucky Charms into his mouth. He was cross-legged on the floor with his back against the door of one of the low cabinets, and Tooru was sure he was quite the sight in his still much-too-small alien pajamas, freshly laundered at the Embassy - he could tell, because his skin was irritated by whatever harsh detergent the staff had washed it with. He didn’t complain, though - he knew those people had way more important things to deal with than his preference of laundry detergent. 

“Anyway, look here - apparently his favourite food is agedashi tofu? God, could he get any more boring?” Tooru grumbled, before shoving a particularly stern spoonful of the cereal into his parted mouth. “I hate everything about this man,” Tooru continued, but his mouth was still half-full, so it almost certainly came out warbled and muddled - but Takahiro had known him long and well enough to be able to decipher it.

“Tooru, your favourite food is  _ milk bread _ .” 

“And I will defend my choice to the grave. Also, shut the fuck up.” Tooru was pouting, grumbling into yet another mouthful of sickly sweetness. 

His head lifted towards to doorway as he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen - it was only supposed to be him and Yahaba on this side of the house, so he was likely about to get chastised for consuming processed food before bed if the bodyguard-slash-babysitter had anything to say about it. Instead, his eyes met the sleepy gaze of Prince Hajime. He was half-awake, and hadn’t seemed to notice Tooru yet. It was a little cute, Tooru thought, the way that he rubbed at his eyes and yawned, almost like a cartoon, or something equally childlike and soft. The unruly spikes of Hajime’s hair seemed softer in the dim light of the kitchen, too, and Tooru found his eyes scanning the prince’s form from top to toe. Hajime was dressed in pajamas, much like himself, though Tooru noticed that in lieu of aliens displayed on his chest, he had Godzilla. 

Hajime seemed to finally notice Tooru sat in front of the refrigerator, his whole body freezing up as his mouth gaped open.

On the other end of the phone, Takahiro seemed to sense there had been an intrusion into their evening catch-up session. “Is that—”

_ Click _ . Tooru hung up and the line went dead. He wasn’t quite sure why he suddenly trained all of his attention on Hajime, like Hajime was the only light in the room and Tooru had to focus on him to see anything at all.

If Hajime noticed that Tooru had been on the phone, he didn’t mention it as he stumbled over the first sentence to leave his mouth. “Er - I didn’t realise you were awake. Or in here. Sorry.”

“Are you apologising to me for being in your own kitchen?”

“Uh, I think so,” Hajime confirmed with a sheepish nod, scratching the back of his head as he leaned against the doorframe. 

Tooru thought he looked like one of those models in jeans adverts, where the guys were all perfectly undone and oh-so-casually-sexy. Did he just think Hajime was sexy? God, he’s losing his mind already. “Well, um, there’s no need.” 

Hajime does crack a smile at that one. “Thanks for your permission, Tooru. For being in my own kitchen.”

“You’re welcome.” Tooru laughed, soft but light in the dim silence of the room. 

“I just came to get some hot chocolate. Do you - should I make you one?” Hajime asked awkwardly, moving from his spot in the threshold of the kitchen over to the cupboards. 

From his spot on the floor, Tooru could see Hajime’s shirt lift as he reached up to one of the top shelves. Tooru averted his eyes before he could get caught staring at the well-defined muscles of Hajime’s abdomen, and the neatly trimmed hair that trailed down, way past the elastic of Hajime’s somewhat worn pajama pants. 

_ ‘God, what’s wrong with me today? Why do I keep  _ looking  _ at him like that? _ ’ Tooru thought to himself, almost forgetting to answer the prince’s question. “Yeah, that would be nice, actually.”

“Yeah.” Hajime agreed, not looking at Tooru at all. He was busy melting chocolate over the stove, making them two rich, frothy hot chocolates from scratch. “I do this a lot when I can’t sleep.”

“Is that often?”

“Only when I can’t get my brain to shut up,” Hajime shrugged, before exhaling, releasing some built up tension from his chest. “So yeah, pretty much all the time.” 

Tooru wasn’t sure if he was meant to ask about it, but something about the private sanctity of the two of them sharing a hot chocolate in the kitchen made him care, for once. Besides, Hajime wasn’t antagonising him like usual, so Tooru could afford to be a little nice to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” 

_ ‘I guess that’s a no, then.’ _

“But thank you for asking.”

Tooru was surprised by Hajime’s words, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He briefly considered how this is probably the longest they’ve ever spent in each other’s presence without either of them trying to piss each other off, but he quickly derailed that train of thought before his notoriously big mouth disrupted the niceties that they were sharing for once. “No problem, dude.”

“Did you just call me ‘dude’?” Hajime was looking down at Tooru in his spot on the floor like he’d grown a third head, but there was a sense of playfulness that was usually missing from his tone. Tooru didn’t mind it, somehow.

“Yeah, and?” Tooru grinned up at him, setting his bowl of cereal down to one side. Hajime looked at him a little oddly, before exhaling deeply once again. 

“Nothing.” Hajime shook his head, and he was soon pouring the hot chocolate into twin mugs for them each to enjoy. “You’re not being as annoying, right now.” 

“I know.”

“Do you do it on purpose, then?”

“Do  _ you _ ?” Tooru countered, raising one sharp eyebrow.

Hajime seemed taken aback at that, but for some reason it still wasn’t bothering him enough to leave. Tooru wondered what was up with the prince, now that they were alone together. “No, I don’t.”

“Good to know.” Tooru shrugged, blowing carefully on his drink before taking a sip. He was surprised when Hajime sank down to sit on the floor with him, and it was then that Tooru noticed the kitten slippers once again. Hajime was wiggling his feet, like it was impossible to remain still, but it didn’t bother Tooru like it would if it had been Takahiro or Tsuna. He simply let Hajime fidget as he needed, occasionally knocking his foot back against Hajime’s when they collided. It was… nice.

“Why are you down here, anyway? Thought Yahaba would have locked you in your room for the evening.” Hajime turned the attention away from himself, back to Tooru. 

It wasn’t that Tooru minded, but it was becoming more apparent that Hajime didn’t want the focus to be on himself. That clashed with every thought that Tooru had had of the narcissistic, self-absorbed, paparazzi-loving prince, and it was a little hard to reconcile his previous encounters with the infuriating Hajime with this Hajime, the one who spoke softly and made him hot chocolate, and didn’t seem to be mad at him like the rest of the world. 

“My sleep schedule is still fucked. Also, I was talking to a friend from back home - no better excuse for some snacks, right?”

“I hope you get some rest, later.” Hajime sounded honest, and it was like he couldn’t look at Tooru as he said the words. “If only for the fact that tomorrow we have to spend all day being best friends, and it’ll be exhausting.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a delightful friend.” Tooru scoffed, but the hollow, self-confident mask didn’t seem to properly fit. He didn’t lift his gaze from the hot beverage, feeling like if he looked at Hajime, it would be admitting to his fakery. 

“I’m sure.”

Tooru pretended to be offended, but picked up his phone from the floor at his side where he had left it. “Hey, look at me?”

Hajime looked confused, but it was somehow still handsome - big, green eyes wide and Hajime’s full brows furrowed in puzzlement at Tooru’s request. Tooru bumped their mugs together, before posting the looping video on his Instagram story. 

“See? I’m good at this kind of thing.” Tooru shrugged, abandoning his phone in favour of the chocolate drink once again. “You don’t need to worry about me fucking this up, okay? I can assure you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

There’s a long silence, but Hajime bumped their ankles together one last time before raising himself to his feet. Tooru thought about how that was the nicest Hajime had ever been to him, and tried not to let his mind whirl around about it. 

The kitchen was quiet, still, save for a soft groan as Hajime stretched out his spine, one arm reaching up and up into the air and revealing his stomach once again. Hajime walked over to the doorway yet again, leaving Tooru alone on the kitchen floor with a lot of thoughts bouncing around his brain. Hajime hesitated before leaving, though; looking over his shoulder, his face was not-quite a smile as he mumbled, his gaze not-quite meeting Tooru’s.

“Have a good night, Tooru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i love u all but especially my beta for dealing w my inconsistent writing skills lmao. also feel free to come talk to me @bluenimi on twitter <3


	4. the doctor put her hands over my liver, she told me my resentment's getting smaller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime and Tooru try to salvage both of their family's reputations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! 
> 
> just wanted to provide a couple of trigger warnings for this chapter; there's a visit to a children's hospital ward, and reference to a minor character who has passed away as a result of serious illness. 
> 
> that being said! i hope you all enjoy this chapter, it's a very interesting look into tooru (in my opinion).

Tooru Oikawa’s first thought upon waking up the next morning was that he should have listened when Yahaba had told him to get an early night. But then he remembered being in the kitchen, indulging in a cup of hot chocolate that had been prepared by a  _ prince _ , no less, and he decided that he would take this particular bout of exhaustion a hundred times over in order to not lose that particular memory. 

Just because he liked hot chocolate, especially when it was made from scratch, it did  _ not _ mean Tooru liked that prick of a prince, or even tolerated him more than Tooru did before - it just meant that it was a nice moment that they shared for once, instead of firing off insults at each other, and somehow he felt that it was worth it to feel a little groggy when he woke up in the morning.

Besides, he would have plenty of time to catch up on his rest when he eventually made it back to the White House - Tooru needed any excuse possible to neglect talking to either his sister or Takahiro about his extended stay with the Little Prince.

It was early enough that the sky before the dawn was a particular shade of cornflower blue that was light enough to see by, but it was clear that the sun hadn’t risen yet. Though it surely would, Tooru would be happy if it didn’t today, if only so he didn’t have to go through the charade of the hours ahead. Tooru wondered if the lack of sun was the reason he was so cold, but he couldn’t answer his own musing because of the veil of sleep that still lazily hung over him. Instead, he buried his  _ very  _ cold toes into the pleasing fluffiness of the guest slippers he’d been given for the duration of his stay.

He guided himself out of bed successfully, and without Yahaba yelling at him through his bedroom door. It was a surprise to the both of them, but Yahaba didn’t complain - perhaps he was afraid to jinx it. He just looked at Tooru like he was insane, or had grown a second head. Or maybe he was overthinking it entirely and Yahaba had accidentally swallowed a bee. Tooru couldn’t quite tell.

“Morning?” Tooru tried as he entered the kitchen, but he was ignored by all people in the room, as tended to be the case this early in the morning. 

The kitchen was now lit from the white light fixtures in the ceiling, and much brighter than the soft ambience of the previous night’s encounter with Hajime. It hurt, but he ignored the strain in his eyes as he helped himself to a serving of breakfast that the resident chef had provided. Though he would have settled for another bowl of Lucky Charms, there was something about enjoying a proper Japanese breakfast (similar to that his grandmother would have whipped up for him, given the chance) that was refreshing to Tooru. 

He sat at the breakfast bar, and it wasn’t long before he and Yahaba were joined by Hajime, with the ever rough-edged Kyoutani closely following behind him.

“Good morning,” Tooru tried again, and this time earned himself a response from Hajime, which was a welcomed surprise. Tooru had expected to be blanked, or to receive a low grunt of acknowledgement at best, but maybe their late-night encounter had softened the prickly edges of the porcupine prince.

“Morning, Tooru.” A smile was too much to hope for, clearly, but Tooru appreciated the effort that Hajime was expending, especially this early in the morning. 

Ready to fill the room with his usual, practiced self-absorbed ramblings, Tooru was a little surprised when Hajime continued speaking. 

“Did you sleep alright, in the end?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Tooru raised an eyebrow, his eyes trained on the immaculately dressed man to his right. It was a little infuriating that Hajime always looked so put together. “You’re the one who was struggling to wind down, if I remember.”

Hajime simply rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it - it was on autopilot, Tooru could tell. He understood it, to an extent. They were both so used to reacting to each other badly, it was odd to play nice for once. “Yeah, I was okay in the end.” There was a brief pause, like Hajime was struggling to decide whether or not to continue speaking. Or maybe, he too had eaten a bee. Tooru wasn’t sure about him either. “Eat up, we have a big day ahead of us.”

The spoonful of miso soup that Tooru was bringing to his lips clattered to the table, and Tooru was glad to be wearing his alien pajamas still as he promptly spilled it down his front. It was embarrassing, but at least he hadn’t ruined a ridiculously expensive shirt with his carelessness. Choking a little, he spluttered as he drank from the glass of fruit juice in front of him to soothe the burn at the back of his throat. “Thanks?” He managed to finally force out of his mouth, and his cheeks were red in part-deoxygenation and part-humiliation as he recovered from his faux-pas. It was a little humiliating that the minimal amount of care shown by Hajime, even in passing, was enough to thoroughly destroy any sense of Tooru’s sanity this early in the morning. Just  _ why _ was it such a big deal? Tooru wasn’t sure, or certain he even wanted to find out.

Tooru could have sworn he heard Yahaba laugh, and he could quite easily see the traces of a grin threatening to pull at Hajime’s usually-scowling mouth. Tooru was unforgiving, shooting them both a petulant glare as he turned his attention back to his breakfast, pretending that he was anywhere but right there. 

Tooru was glad to have mopped up the spillage because it was mere moments later that Kyoutani was sliding a thick stack of documents towards Tooru on the countertop of the breakfast bar. Whatever it was, it was probably better off without splodges of spilled miso soup on the white, crisp pages.

Sensing his confusion, Kyoutani answered Tooru’s question before he even asked. “It’s an NDA - standard procedure for anyone who stays here. Really, you should have been given this before you got here, but the White House lawyers wanted to be thorough in their checks. It’s been approved, so feel free to initial and sign wherever the red crosses are.”

Tooru raised his eyebrows as he read through the pages. The majority of the lines were things he was familiar with, having signed more non-disclosure agreements than he could count, but there were some things that stood out to him. 

> _ ‘The words “Confidential Information” as referenced within this legally binding agreement, include the following: _
> 
>   * _Information that HRH Prince Hajime, or any other member of the Imperial Family, may designate to TOORU OIKAWA (the Guest) as confidential;_
> 

>   * Any and all proprietary and financial information in regard to HRH Prince Hajime’s personal wealth and estate;
> 

>   * Any interior architectural details of the royal residence, and any personal effects housed on the estate;
> 

>   * Any information regarding the personal and private life of HRH Prince Hajime not previously released within official press releases, Royal documents, speeches or released through approved royal biographers, including any personal or private relationship that OIKAWA TOORU (the Guest) may have with HRH Prince Hajime.
> 

>   * Any information found on HRH Prince Hajime’s personal computer, mobile phone or other electronic devices…’
> 


It was an airtight agreement - suffocatingly so, when he considered his spontaneous social media post from the night before. It was even a little excessive, but if the White House had approved it, they had approved it. There was no reason for him to say no, if the might of the White House lawyers had deemed this ready for him to agree to. 

As though he could sense Tooru’s discomfort, Hajime gave Tooru a look. It looked sort of like he was holding back a cough, if Tooru thought about it, but he was grateful for the unexpected show of support nonetheless, and resisted the urge to tease. Hajime was clearly trying, and Tooru couldn’t fault him for that. 

“If it helps, your people made me sign one, too.” Hajime was quiet as he spoke, but the effort was not lost on Tooru. It strangely  _ did _ help knowing that he wasn’t the only one put under legal pressures. Somehow, Tooru always felt odd when he had to sign documents without his mother present. It made him feel like a vulnerable child, a little kid being swindled out of all his treasures. 

Holding the weighty fountain pen in his hand, after it was graciously provided by Kyoutani, Tooru signed and printed his name, and left the mark of his initials wherever required. With an exaggerated sigh and a flourish as he extended the pen back towards the equerry, Tooru sat back in his seat. “Well, at least the hard part of the day is done. Now, all there’s left to do is the easy part - lie to the world’s press, have our pictures taken an inordinate amount of times and try not to embarrass ourselves in front of a ward of sick kids.”

The rest of breakfast mercifully passed without incident, and Tooru excused himself in order to get ready for the day - though he was quick to clean up after himself, he was careful not to embarrass himself further that early on in the day. Something told him that he would need his pride intact for the day ahead. 

Tooru cringed as he brushed his teeth after eating, but he didn’t want to show up to a photo-op with food stuck in his teeth - he’d surely had enough suffering for one weekend. He washed and dressed himself, opting to sport the kind of preppy look that often led to his pictures plastered all over ‘dark academia’ Pinterest boards. It was funny, to him - he knew he wasn’t bad looking, but there’s a certain ego boost that came from having people on the internet wax poetic about how  _ “hot he looks in that peacoat, god, the things I’d let him do to me” _ . Running a hand through the curls of his hair, he applied product until it was  _ just  _ the right amount of messy. That, paired with the neatly pressed dress shirt, the fitted pants that accentuated his tall, toned build, and the carefully polished Oxfords on his feet — he was the picture of prim and proper. Tooru had every faith in himself that he would succeed at conning the world into thinking that he and Hajime were the epitome of best friends. For a moment, he practiced his winning smile; it was a little creepy to watch himself smile big and broad despite nothing really being worthy of such a reaction. He hoped that no one noticed the boredom in his eyes.

Was there a part of him willed into trying harder than usual to perfect his look? Yes.

Was it probably because Hajime had looked annoyingly perfect in that suave-yet-simple way that seemed to always come naturally to him? Tooru didn’t plan on admitting to that. 

But, also yes.

Knowing from the itinerary he’d been given that everyone was likely waiting downstairs, ready to go, Tooru gave himself one last check-over before leaving the guest room. He was downstairs in the foyer, where Hajime had introduced him to Kyoutani the previous day, before anyone could whine at him for holding them all up. Tooru was smug when pointing out to Yahaba that he was, in fact, five minutes early, and therefore deserved all the praise in the world.

“Come on, Yahaba, you  _ know _ I’m trying. You didn’t even have to call upstairs for me in that shrill tone of yours. It’s practically your lucky day.”

Yahaba’s glare was as sharp as the muttering under his breath - Tooru thought it best he didn’t catch what the agent had said, in the end. 

“Is he always like this?” An unexpected voice - that of the prince - asked from Tooru’s right, a sympathetic grimace aimed in Yahaba’s direction. 

Yahaba didn’t respond to the prince, knowing that despite the chastising and the coddling, Tooru was still his employer (technically) - instead, he chose to sigh deeply, hand squeezing the brown file in his hand a little tighter. “Come on, Tooru - I’ll quiz you in the back of the car on the way to the radio station.” 

Tooru bit his tongue, following quietly behind Yahaba in the carefully orchestrated move from the safety of Hajime’s home to the car that would carry Tooru and Yahaba to their first event of the day. Tooru only offered Hajime the remnants of a smile as he passed by the prince, out the front door - he would be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for whoever suggested they travel separately for security reasons. His facade was particularly thin today, and Tooru didn’t want to cause another international incident by snapping one time too many at Hajime and earning himself a bloody nose with a pair of black eyes to match. 

The first engagement of the day was going to be a radio interview with some up-and-coming new presenting talent asking meme-friendly, casual questions. A mixture of Japanese and English would need to come readily out of Tooru’s mouth today, and there was a point in the back of the car when Tooru wasn’t sure he could speak either of them well enough to form more than a couple of words. He, of course, whinged about this to Yahaba. After a swift kick to the ankle, Tooru sorted himself out soon enough. Though some of the nerves remained, Tooru simply smoothed out the facade of the perfectly put-together political prodigy, shaking out any wrinkles in the fabric of his public persona. As promised, Yahaba spent the duration of the car journey quizzing Tooru on every minor detail that the Imperial staff had outlined about the life of Hajime - at this point, he was half convinced that he knew more about the prince of Japan than he did the content of the pop quiz he would be taking for class when he got back. Playing with the hem of his jacket, he rattled off answer after answer to Yahaba’s questions. Tooru had to admit, he didn’t need to expend  _ that _ much effort into memorising them. Somehow, annoyingly so, the information about the prince had taken root in his brain fairly easily, and he hadn’t had to extensively pore over the factfile like he was expecting. It was a good job, because he’d pretty much passed out in his bed after being left in the kitchen by Hajime the previous night, without a chance to commit to his full Tooru-mode memorisation routine.

He cast his mind back over the information he’d absorbed over the whirlwind of the last day or so.

_ Iwaizumi Hajime, grandson of the Japanese emperor, youngest child of three. Twenty four years old. Enjoys reading Charles Dickens, studied at NYU and ended up majoring in Literature. Served in the military for a short time, but left to focus more on his joint philanthropic ventures with his best friend, Matsukawa Issei. Together, they have established multiple community centres around the globe, donated and raised millions of dollars towards increasing literacy rates in countries suffering as a result of colonisation. Dog-owner - a four year old dachshund by the name Tofu. Favourite food: agedashi tofu. Favourite colour is blue. _

It was by no means unimpressive, filled with accolades and awards, and Tooru knew for a fact that he had more achievements under his belt than was typed out in the file. Tooru hated to admit that the guy did seem to have a good head on his irritatingly broad shoulders. They’d been seen as peers, after all - the children of world leaders, both of them working hard to play their roles and do all they can to maintain face. 

Tooru remembered that he had been the one to usurp Hajime’s title as the youngest ever guest editor for TIME magazine - though he was three years younger than the prince, he was only a week younger than Hajime had been when he’d been afforded the opportunity. It had been a sweet victory at the time, but thinking about it now - he probably should have focused more on his editorial piece than on beating Hajime to something. 

The journey came to a close, and Tooru waited for the necessary security checks to be undertaken by both the prince’s bodyguards - personal protection officers, or PPOs, if Tooru was going to be pedantic - and the security that had been afforded to him by the Secret Service. It wasn’t long to wait, but his knee bounced as he waited regardless. He considered texting Takahiro in the brief pause before he was expected to put on a show for the world’s press, but for some reason, he didn’t want to. He’d no doubt have to explain why he’d suddenly hung up on him in favour of Hajime - was it really as bad as it sounded, when he phrased it like that? - and besides, he had no idea what time it was back home in the States. He was never one for working out time zones - he instead relied on his sister, or Yahaba, who both always made a point of having their world clock loaded up with their home, their current location, and wherever they were headed. Regardless, as he looked down at Takahiro’s contact on his phone, Tooru swiped it away; out of sight, out of mind - he would deal with Takahiro later. 

The rap of knuckles on the window of the car refocused Tooru’s attention on the task at hand. Smoothing the mask of his perfect smirk over his face, he exited the car with Yahaba right behind him. Outside the radio station’s building, there was a small crowd of people - it was still fairly early in the morning, so Tooru was surprised at the numbers that had shown up to get a glimpse of him and the prince. Though, from the look of the signs that some of them carried, they were almost certainly only here for Hajime. 

_ ‘I’LL BE YOUR PRINCESS, HAJI-BAE’  _ read one of the more amusing ones, but Tooru noticed with near-concern that it was promptly ripped from the grip of a  _ particularly  _ zealous young woman and discarded in a nearby trash can. 

Hajime had exited his car too. He was waiting for Tooru, ready to enter the building as a singular unit - if it wasn’t purely for show, Tooru might have thought it was a kind gesture, but that would be giving Hajime too much credit, of course. Hajime was playing the game, just like him, and maybe even just as well. Tooru walked up to his side, pausing and looking out over the crowd, before leaning in close to whisper in Hajime’s ear. It was the picture of conspiratorial, boyish banter. “Your fans certainly are enthusiastic, Iwa-chan. No wonder you have such a reputation with the ladies.” Tooru murmured, and he liked the way that Hajime’s jaw clenched for the briefest of moments before the prince got a handle on himself, aiming a well-rehearsed smile in Tooru’s direction. 

“They’re certainly something.” The response was less than Tooru was expecting, and he was left to catch up as Hajime started towards the lobby of the broadcasting building. His stride was longer than Hajime’s, so it didn’t really appear like Hajime was storming off, but Tooru knew Hajime better than that. He also knew full well that Hajime was expecting Tooru to trail behind him, saving face and pretending that everything was perfectly fine.

The four of them - Hajime, Tooru, Kyoutani and Yahaba - are led up into the elevator, and they climb the stories up to the radio station’s hub, where they would be conducting the interview. Tooru was a little antsy as a light layer of makeup was put on his face - he’d almost forgotten that the interview would be livestreamed on the internet too. Both he and Hajime seemed to be uncomfortable with the feeling of the makeup on their skin, and Tooru hoped that the contrast between his skin tone and the fair base didn’t differ as much as it did on Hajime. 

The interview was boring. Not to the host, or even the viewers or listeners, but to Hajime and Tooru it was the most mind-numbing hour they’d ever spent in each other’s presence. That was quite the achievement seeing as they had both attended their fair share of mundane charity galas over their years in the public eye. Tooru could tell Hajime was bored and longed to call him out on it. If they were alone, Tooru would point out the way that Hajime’s leg hadn’t stopped bouncing since they took their seats at each other's side in the radio studio. He’d pick at Hajime’s restlessness, winding him up to get the sweet satisfaction of a clenched jaw or a roll of the eyes - but they weren’t alone, not even close. Tooru let it slide for now, but if he got the chance to annoy Hajime by bringing it up later, that would be perfectly fine by him. 

“—And joining us today are two  _ very _ special guests,” the host began, her voice melodic and exaggerated as she spoke into the microphone in front of her. “Their antics have brought them to the forefront of the world’s press, and we’ve managed to get them into the studio to join us - ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, it’s Tooru Oikawa, son of the President of the United States, and Japan’s own Prince Hajime!” 

The introduction nearly makes Tooru laugh, and he swears that he sees Hajime suppress a smile out of the corner of his eye. It’s their cue to talk, so Tooru plasters on his winning smile. “Good morning, Yui, thanks for having us.”

Hajime similarly pipes up, his voice lacking the usual edge that Tooru brought out of him as he adjusted his position in his seat. “Yeah, good morning everyone.” 

“Well, I think we better skip right ahead to what everyone wants to know. If anyone is unsure what I’m talking about - and I don’t know how you could be, with it being all over the internet - these two handsome boys got themselves into a little spot of trouble with a certain wedding cake over the weekend. Come on, boys, tell us. What  _ on earth _ happened?”

Tooru and Hajime shared a faux conspiratorial look, each of them offering a warm laugh - they were the perfect picture of cheekiness, like they were longtime friends. The plan was working. Hajime was the one that explained the cake incident - rehearsed, prepped, but even Tooru was listening intently to his carefully crafted explanation. The story was that it was simply some playful bantering between long-time friends that went wrong by accident - it wasn’t too far from the truth, Tooru acknowledged that much at least.

“That’s really it?” The host laughs, shaking her head at the pair of them, as if she was their exasperated friend listening to their antics for the millionth time. It was fake, but clever - in a fond way, it reminded Tooru of his sister. Tsuna was good at these things too. “I can’t believe that the two of you nearly caused an international incident for the sake of some joking around.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault this guy’s family splashed out on the good champagne. Plus, he’s built like a  _ tank _ , how am I supposed to keep up with him?” Tooru pretended he was exasperated, but it earned a corner of false laughter all around. 

In a bold, unorchestrated move, Tooru offered his fist out towards Hajime - it was subtle, asking for the bumping of their fists, but Tooru could practically see the thousands of gif sets made of the small display of familiar friendship. Hajime bumped his fist against Tooru’s, rolling his eyes at Tooru, though it lacked its usual venom. It was like Hajime was genuinely dealing with fond exasperation. Tooru wouldn’t hold his breath, though - he knew Hajime was good at pretending.

The rest of the interview was easy; they had to play a few silly radio games and talk to a few callers, but beyond the general playful energy that they kept up for the rest of their time on air, there wasn’t much pretending left to do for this particular visit. 

They said their goodbyes and thanked the host for inviting them onto the show - they were both well-trained in this type of thing and it showed - before Yahaba and Kyoutani escorted them into the elevator back down to the lobby. Tooru wondered if the same desperate crowd would be waiting for them, or rather, Hajime, when they exited the building. He wasn’t disappointed - the crowd had only seemed to grow in size in the duration of their interview, and Kyoutani and Yahaba exchanged a look and a nod as they prepared to exit the building. Tooru guessed it was some kind of bodyguard code for  _ “hey, let’s not let these two idiots get attacked by screaming teenage girls” _ , and paid it no mind. 

Tooru watched as Hajime and Kyoutani left the building first, with the prince getting shoved into the back of the black car that had brought him to the studio. Tooru and Yahaba left next, and Tooru tried not to grumble to himself when he noticed Hajime’s car leaving before he’d even had an opportunity to get into the vehicle provided for himself and Yahaba. Hajime just always had to beat him, didn’t he?

“Stop pouting,” said Yahaba from his side, the two of them sat in the back of the car once more. “You can catch up with your BFF when we get to the hospital.”

“I’m not pouting, first of all.” Tooru rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically in that way that he knew pissed off Yahaba. “And second, he isn’t my BFF. He’s nothing but an annoyance to me, and I wish I was at home instead of on this stupid mission to fix Mom’s poll numbers.”

“In your mother’s defence, she wouldn’t need you to do this if you hadn’t been a complete idiot and ruined a $75,000 wedding cake at the wedding of Japanese royalty.” Yahaba doesn’t even look up from his phone, scrolling through his social media feed. “The response to the interview is good, by the way. Apparently, there are people who ‘ship it’, whatever the fuck that means. And nice touch with the fist bump, really sold it to people that the two of you aren’t mortal enemies, just two idiotic rich boys who got themselves into trouble.”

Tooru wondered if that was a good thing, but at the same time he knew Yahaba well enough to know when he was trying to give him praise for real. Humming in acknowledgement of the positive sentiment, Tooru relaxed a little in the car seat. It was nice that the morning had gone so smoothly, because it was where they were headed that worried him more. 

An hour later, Tooru and Yahaba had called for lunch on their way to their destination - it hadn’t taken much convincing on Tooru’s part to get Yahaba to agree to fried chicken and fries. Tooru was glad he ate before they arrived, because there was something about hospital wards that made him lose all sense of comfort. 

Hajime had chosen this activity, Tooru had been informed. He’d chosen to bring Tooru to the hospital, to shake hands with sick children and give them words of encouragement as best as he could. 

Tooru was good with adults, always had been - talking to them, impressing them with his worldly knowledge despite only being twenty-one years of age and keeping them on the side of his mother’s political endeavours. Kids… they were hard. They could tell when adults were placating them with empty promises that things were going to get better. Sick kids were even  _ more  _ aware. 

Was Tooru a little resentful for being forced to play visiting angel to the most vulnerable? That was probably the wrong word - it was more like a general discomfort, and he just wasn’t sure he had any right to tell these children that they were brave. Where was his authority on the matter when he doubted he would ever experience something half as difficult as these children faced on a daily basis?

He was even more jittery on the way to the children’s ward, though he tried to pass it off as simply a rush of energy after the greasy fried chicken and sugary sweet soda. Yahaba was much the same, though he was seemingly expending the pent up energy through some game on his phone. The tap-tapping and cursing under his breath was near humorous to Tooru, but his mood had dropped considerably after the success of the morning’s interview, so it didn’t do much other than make him exhale through his nose with a little more force than was otherwise needed. 

“Look, Tooru,” Yahaba started, the wheels of the black car slowing to a halt outside the designated entrance to the hospital. They had a minute or so until the cameras were on them again, so Tooru hoped that whatever the silver-haired agent was about to say wasn’t  _ too _ distressing. “I know that you hate hospitals, but this visit is run of the mill. It might be hard to process, especially seeing the kids, but you know that we wouldn’t have signed off on this if we didn’t think you could handle it.”

“I’m fine, I assure you.” Tooru nearly believed it as his grin spread over his features, cocky and confident as he shrugged. “It’s whatever, I swear. No reason to worry.”

Yahaba seemed slightly less convinced, if the raising of one eyebrow and the tilting of his head were anything to go by, but he made no further comments on the situation, and for that Tooru was grateful. 

The routine tap of knuckles on the bulletproof glass of the car window signalling their green light to exit the car interrupted any further conversation they might have shared. The strict but familiar security routine was like the muscle-memory of returning to a familiar volleyball play, at this point - as long as he may go between games, between training sessions, he would never really forget how to set the ball with just the right amount of power and speed to send it careening over the net to score yet another point. It was easy to Tooru, and he welcomed the routine as his head threatened to spin at the very sight of the hospital in front of him. 

Although he’d never been here before, the drab, grey interior of the hospital was familiar - it seemed that hospitals around the world were all the same, really. It was a little harder to feel at ease when Tooru and Yahaba approached Hajime and Kyoutani at the entrance to the children’s ward. It was a dedicated space for young kids with serious illnesses, and Tooru knew that most of the little faces he was about to meet were going to be hooked up to more machines than could be considered kind. It only increased the anxiety bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, but he took a deep breath. Tooru steeled himself, squeezing his left hand into a fist at his side as he exhaled - this wasn’t about him, not right now. 

Tooru felt eyes on him before he dared to turn his gaze towards Hajime and his PPO. Smoothing his rehearsed smile over his face, he offered a quiet “hello” as the four of them congregated in front of the double doors, brightly coloured and covered in animal murals, waiting to be shown inside by one of the senior paediatric nurses. There was the presence of the royally-approved photographer, too. The corridor felt a little crowded, to the point where it was a welcome respite to leave its narrowness in favour of the ward itself. The sight still made Tooru’s stomach tight, and for once, he stayed quiet rather than turning any mild discomfort into a joke.

Tooru heard Hajime exchange familiar greetings with some of the staff members, greeting them by first name. It helped settle Tooru’s nerves about the whole thing, strangely, to see that Hajime was completely at ease in this place. Was it reassuring? Or was it just Tooru’s competitiveness preventing him from feeling the discomfort, when clearly Hajime was as relaxed as could be?

Clearing his throat, Tooru politely introduced himself in Japanese, and it was clear that some of the staff weren’t expecting his fluency. They greeted him in return, thanking him for his patronage. It wasn’t a secret that there had been a sizeable donation on behalf of Tooru’s family, and Tooru wondered if it was cheating, donating this money to these sick kids to help bring this PR nightmare of the previous weekend under control. 

Tooru sincerely tried his hardest to think about  _ anything  _ else, just something other than the less-than-moral steps taken by the White House and by the Imperial Family to at least try and get a handle on the situation caused by his little accident with Hajime. He settled for flirting with some of the nurses - his specialty. A flash of his pearly whites, a few flirtatious comments and a sly wink thrown in for good measure, he was proving himself popular enough with the ladies stood waiting to guide himself and Hajime around the ward. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” came a stern voice from Tooru’s right. Hajime. “But shall we get to it? There’s only so much time, and I’d really hate to miss anyone.”

“Of course, your highness,” one of the younger nurses -  _ Ai, _ if her name tag was right - responded. She was quiet, pretty in a shy type of way. Tooru wondered for a moment if this girl was Hajime’s type - Tooru had no idea, if he was honest, what type of girl Hajime would be interested in. It wasn’t information included in the dossier he’d all but absorbed into his skin, because that’s not exactly the type of information that Tooru needed to know, he supposed. But he couldn’t help but be curious, even if it was a weird thing for Tooru to be thinking about. “Come right this way. Tooru, you too.” Even her voice was soft, like if she was quiet enough, the gentleness might heal those around her. It irked him, but Tooru could only come to the conclusion that it was because she was so… unlike him. Personalities clash all the time, and though he knew barely anything about this nurse and her featherlight voice, that must be the reason he had to quash the pout that threatened to take over his mouth before he embarrassed himself, or worse - caused another scene.

Ai led them forward. The ward was almost star-shaped; there was a nurses’ station in the centre, with different spokes spreading out from it. It wasn’t small at all, with each of the spokes acting as a sort of corridor of hospital beds. It was brightly decorated, bright rainbow hues dancing across the ceiling and walls, as if the saturation of colour would hide the reason why these patients were here. Tooru was growing more and more antsy by the second, and the soft-spoken nurse was getting on his nerves, even now.

The necessary distraction for Tooru came in the form of Hajime. He was smiling, talking to the first of a number of patients, and the young boy recognised him immediately. Despite a tiredness that was haunting to see, especially on the face of a child no more than ten years old, there was a brightness in the kid’s eyes, lit up from Hajime’s mere presence. Tooru was sure that the little lad had no idea who he was, but manners were clearly instilled in him, because the little boy brought Tooru into the conversation about the Spiderman pajamas he was wearing. 

“Who’s your favourite Spiderman, mister?”

“Oh - I guess I really like Peter Parker.” Tooru managed a smile, hovering at the foot of the boy’s bed. “Who’s your favourite? That’s what we all wanna know.”

“Miles Morales!” It’s nearly an instant answer, and it brings a round of fond laughter out in the adults as a result of the unbridled enthusiasm. Tooru even continues smiling when Hajime confirms that Miles Morales is his favourite, too — ‘ _ if he’s lying, then he’s damn good at it.’  _ Tooru thought, sincerely impressed. If Tooru was good with adults, charming and buttering them up, then Hajime was a professional when it came to making kids happy. It didn’t take a genius to work that out.

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, then one of the nurses pointed out they should move onto the next patient if they wanted to get round everyone. Bidding the boy a goodbye, Tooru offered him a high five, and it made him feel a little easier inside about the whole thing when he saw how genuinely happy the boy was to just be spoken to, to be entertained by these two cool famous people - because that’s the kind of thing that matters to kids. It was pure excitement, and Tooru knew that it had somehow made the boy’s week.

They moved through more and more patients, some together and some apart. It was a little harder when Hajime wasn’t there to break the ice or set an example, but Tooru was happy in the knowledge that none of the kids have cried because of him yet. He chatted for what felt like hours, and despite having no idea what half of the kids’ trends were, he managed to keep up in conversation. It probably wasn’t much of an achievement when his conversation partners were no older than fourteen years old, but he felt accomplished nonetheless. 

After finishing the last patient in the last bay that he was assigned to, he sunk down into the chair on one side, by one of the empty beds. A little drained, Tooru needed just a moment to recharge, and it wasn’t like anyone was around to admonish him - most of the staff were much more preoccupied with the presence of Prince Hajime, anyway. It was understandable if he thought about it hard enough; he was one of the most famous people in their country, and the grandson of the Emperor, no less. Of course they’d take that over some foreign politician’s kid. Tooru settled for relaxing further in the chair - he could hear voices, the other side of the curtain, so being the nosy bastard he is, he listened in. 

“So, what are you into? What’s the big thing in the world of Haruki?” That was Hajime’s voice, Tooru could tell. It was deep, but not overly stern like it was when he spoke to Tooru. Hajime sounded interested, genuinely. Tooru listened further.

“I really like Harry Potter,” came a quieter voice. It was laboured, like every word required a lungful of air to speak. 

“It’s okay, take your time. We have time.” Hajime reassured the boy, and if Tooru craned his neck, he could peek between the curtains that separated the bay where he had taken refuge and where Hajime was. He could see a smile on Hajime’s face and it wasn’t the fake smirk that he’d seen in the papers, or the rehearsed one that he brought out for official royal photo-ops either - no, this was a genuine smile. Hajime was having a good time. “What Hogwarts house are you in?”

“I wanted Gryffindor, but I got Hufflepuff.” The weak voice spoke again, and Tooru’s gaze through the curtains shifted to the youth’s face. He had an oxygen supply fitted, and there were God-knows-how-many tubes sticking out of his tiny arms. It looked almost cruel, and Tooru wouldn’t be ashamed to admit that the sight of this, after all of the patients he’d met here in the paediatric unit, brought honest tears to his eyes. 

“And are you happy with Hufflepuff?” Hajime asked. His voice was measured, and Tooru couldn’t find it in himself to stop eavesdropping.

“I mean, I guess. It’s a little boring, though.” 

“I disagree,” Hajime started, shifting his weight a little where he sat at the foot of the boy’s - Haruki ‘s - bed. “I think Hufflepuffs are really important, actually. They make a great contribution to Hogwarts, and they help teach people the wonders of kindness, trust, and faith. Think of it this way… while the Gryffindors are all arguing about how to dive headfirst into danger, while the Ravenclaws are overthinking every answer, and while the Slytherins are trying to work out how to do something with the least amount of effort, Hufflepuffs are there. They’re making sure things are done right, done properly, done as best they can. And besides, Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders, if I remember. They can find the glory, like the Gryffindors. They can find the answers, like Ravenclaws. They can find their path, like the Slytherins. So, they’re equally as important, yeah?”

Tooru was floored. Not only by the fact that Hajime was well-versed enough in Harry Potter lore to discuss it in depth with a self-proclaimed fan, but also that he knew it well enough to turn it into a message for good. Whether Hajime believed the words that he said, or not, it didn’t matter - it was clear as day that he’d made Haruki’s day, from the wide grin that spread over his little face. 

“Mr. Oikawa?” A voice to his left startled Tooru, and it took all of his effort not to fall through the curtain in front of him. Feeling his cheeks burn, he turned his attention to the owner of the voice - ‘ _ oh _ ,’ he thought bitterly at the sight of the soft-spoken staff member from before.  _ ‘It’s you, _ ’ - and pretended that he hadn’t been caught listening in on the prince and the patient. 

“Yes?”

“Your PPO asked me to tell you that it’s about time to go, so you should head back towards the ward entrance.” There was this  _ look  _ in her eyes that Tooru didn’t like, not one bit, but he kept a grip on his irritation as he shot her a winning smile and rose to his feet.

“Well, we better not keep them waiting, hm?” Tooru shot her a smile, dripping in false niceties, and she returned it with a seemingly honest one.  _ ‘Bitch.’  _ he thought, but internally admonished himself for being childish. It must be the jet lag, or the tiredness catching up to him, or the greasy dinner he’d eaten earlier. 

He followed her regardless, back to the group of nurses waiting at the central area. Yahaba and Kyoutani were there but it didn’t seem like they had spoken or even moved since Tooru and Hajime had begun to make their rounds. Tooru didn’t look at Hajime - he didn’t want to know if he’d embarrassed himself, listening in on Hajime and Haruki’s conversation. It didn’t matter what Tooru wanted, apparently, because Hajime still managed to get in a quick swipe at Tooru before they regrouped with their respective staff. 

“You know, didn’t your mommy tell you it was rude to spy on people, Tooru?” came the low tease of Hajime’s voice, near-whispered against Tooru’s ear as if it was a joke shared between friends. Tooru saw red, but offered nothing but a placid smile in return - he wasn’t going to cause another scene. Not here.

Yahaba eyed him curiously as Tooru approached him, and it wasn’t hard for him to sense something was wrong with Tooru. If Tooru was honest, he wanted nothing more than to escape the hospital, escape Hajime, escape that  _ fucking _ nurse, so he willed time to go faster. As if Yahaba knew about Tooru’s suffering, he exchanged a few brief words with Kyoutani before motioning to Tooru. The message was clear - it was time to leave.

Tooru barely remembered exchanging pleasant goodbyes with the ward’s staff, but he must have, because before long, it was just the four visitors walking down one of the endless corridors. It was silent, save for the sound of their footsteps as they kept a brisk pace. It amused Tooru to no end that Hajime’s dress shoes had a tiny heel on them to boost him over the six-foot threshold, no doubt. It made his steps louder in the echoey expanse of grey, public-funded decor.

  
Finally able to retaliate, away from the prying eyes of hospital staff or patients, Tooru opened his mouth to fire off a snarky comment about how Hajime  _ ‘never quite grew up, did he’ _ , but was interrupted by the familiar sound of open gunfire.


End file.
